The Continuing Adventures of Martin the Turd
by Highwing
Summary: It's not easy growing up in Redwall when everybeast expects you to be a legend.
1. Chapter 1

_Now that my regular readers here have gotten all the way through_ The Crimson Badger_, I thought some of you might be interested in reading some of the "outtakes" from that novel, featuring scenes from the rough draft which never made it into the final version, or did, but in a rather different form._

_Those of you who attentively read my novel - my very first work of Redwall fanfiction, drafted by hand on lined notebook paper mostly during my breaks at my job between 1995 and 1997 - may be interested to learn that the story was originally set about half a generation after_ Mattimeo_, and featured many of Brian Jacques' characters from that novel. When it came time to post_ The Crimson Badger _online in 2001, I knew I would have to rewrite the tale with characters entirely of my own, since my initial vision presented in the first draft no longer matched the published series. Thus, Abbess Tess became Vanessa, Auma became Maura, Sam became Alexander, Cheek became Montybank (and a little bit of Winokur too, although Wink was also in the original version in a much smaller role), old Matthias became old Arlyn, Sister May became Sister Aurelia, and some characters had to be eliminated altogether. Which brings us to the character of ... Martin II. Or should that be Martin III, since we learned in_ The Legend of Luke _that Luke's father was also named Martin? Wotever ..._

_In any case, my vision of Martin II (or III) turned out to be quite different from the more stereotypical heroic mouse and Abbey Champion Brian Jacques gave us in_ Pearls of Lutra_. Saddled with the name of Redwall's founding Warrior and greatest hero, I could not see him being anything but resentful at having such expectations piled upon him. I loved creating and writing that character, but sadly there was no place for him in the revised version, so he had to be jettisoned altogether. However, I came to realize that his excised scenes played well enough on their own that they almost constituted a separate story independent of the final, online version of_ The Crimson Badger. _ Thus, here are all of the scenes in which Martin II/III either appeared or was prominently mentioned. And, as a side note, I will also reveal that these scenes were transcribed directly from the handwritten manuscript, with no effort made to correct punctuation, grammar or sentence structure; they are a glimpse into what the original draft of_ The Crimson Badger_ was like when first set down on paper. Hope you enjoy these samples of the Martin that could have been!_

Two mice named Martin gazed at each other across the ages.

One of them, Martin the Warrior, was woven of thread and cloth. His image adorned the tapestry which hung in Great Hall, Redwall's largest chamber, above Cavern Hole. The ancient tapestry was the Abbey's most prized treasure, dating back to the earliest generations of Redwall. At the base of the tapestry stood the Abbey's warrior and founder, but successive generations had added to it, and so the cloth was far more than mere decoration; visitors to Great Hall could take in at a glance many of the key moments in Redwall history, boldly embroidered for all to see, a fluttering, beautiful chronicle of colored fabric. But for all the additions and all the years represented, it was still the image of Martin, resplendent with his shield and sword, that dominated the tapestry and drew the eye to it before all else.

The other Martin - flesh and blood and very much alive - stared forlornly at his long-dead namesake. Heaving a melancholy sigh, he asked aloud the question he'd been asking all his life.

"Why did they give me your name? What were they thinking? Didn't they know what it would do to me?"

His softly spoken works died away before they'd penetrated very far into Great Hall's cathedral-like immensity. On the tapestry before him, shifting ever so slightly upon a gentle draft, the expression of Martin the Warrior remained unchanged, a mix of pride, courage and benevolence. To the younger Martin, that confident countenance seemed almost to be mocking him.

The afternoon sun sent its rays through the tall stained glass windows high up on the western wall, spilling vivid multicolors across the stone floor at the far end of Great Hall and creeping slowly up the opposite wall, where eventually the colored reflections from one set of windows would meet the frosted panes of their east-facing counterparts. Most Redwallers would have drunk in the beauty of this daily summer display, but young Martin was oddly immune to it all.

Soft patterings and high-pitched giggles from overhead told Martin that two of the Abbey's children were playing up in the gallery that ran around Great Hall. From the sound of it, they were chasing each other in a game of tag or some such nonsense. Martin wished they would go back outside with the other Nameday revellers. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts.

Summer of the Three Warriors, indeed! Did his parents actually work at making his life miserable, or did it just come naturally?

There was a minor commotion of voices and footsteps behind him. The meeting down in Cavern Hole was finally getting out. Martin didn't really want to be seen by Urthblood or the Redwaller elders. For a moment he contemplated ducking behind one of the sandstone columns, but he didn't want to look foolish either, so he stood his ground, impassively ignoring the creatures coming up the short flight of broad steps into Great Hall.

Urthblood and some of the others glanced his way, but none paid him much notice since he seemed wrapped up in his thoughts. The Abbess wished to offer the Badger Lord a repast from whatever food was still left from the feast, and then give him a preliminary tour of the Abbey grounds. The group passed through Great Hall and out into the late afternoon air.

All except for Matthias.

Seeing his grandson before the tapestry, Redwall's elder Warrior padded across the red sandstone floor to where Martin stood. Glancing at the woven treasure as he stopped by the young mouse's side, he said cheerfully, "Having a talk with Martin, Martin?"

If it had been anyone else, Martin might have resented the intrusion. But he was fond of his grandfather, and didn't mind the sudden company. Not too much, anyway.

Martin slowly shook his head. "He only talks to warriors. Like you. And Dad."

"You know that's not true. The spirit of Martin will speak to any goodbeast in time of need. Many times in our history he has visited us, in dreams and visions. He watches over us all, always."

"He has never spoken to me," said young Martin. "Guess I've never been in need enough."

Matthias changed the subject on his temperamental grandson. "You should have been down there at that council."

"What for? Wasn't it all about war and battles and fighting?"

"What makes you think that?" Matthias asked.

Martin gave a mirthless laugh. "I saw that badger. A beast like that doesn't concern itself overmuch with peaceful matters. And I doubt that the Abbey leaders could have been called away from our precious Nameday celebration over some trivial concern."

Matthias nodded in appreciation of his grandson's astuteness. "A logical conclusion ... although the way you were acting at the feast, one could suppose Mattimeo and the Abbess might have been looking for an excuse to duck out. At least most of the guests seemed to have a good time in spite of you."

"Ah, well," Martin said lightly, his voice laden with sarcasm, "I guess I just can't pass up a chance to spoil everybeast's good time."

Matthias gave him a smack across the ear.

Martin turned to his grandfather in shock, clutching at his stinging extremity. He expected the elder warrior's face to be a mask of fury, but Matthias wore the same calm and benevolent expression as Martin the Warrior up on the tapestry.

"Just getting your attention," Matthias said, his tone still quite friendly. "I never raised my paw to Mattimeo when he was a youngster, wild as he was sometimes, and neither of us ever raised a paw to you. Perhaps that was a mistake. But you're an adult now, and you've got some growing up to do if you want to become a Redwaller. There may be hard times ahead, for all of us."

Martin found he could not stay angry at his grandfather, not even for having struck him. "You've always understood me better than anyone else. I can't help the way I am."

Matthias sadly shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't understand you at all. Everything you need to make you happy is right here, all around you, every day. All you need to do is reach out and take it. And yet you seem to enjoy being miserable. Why be so sullen and alone, when there's no reason for it?"

Martin shrugged and said nothing.

"You do realize what it is about you that frustrates us so, don't you? Your parents especially. It's that we care about you and want to see you happy. And when you make it so obvious that you aren't, it makes us unhappy as well." Matthias gave the forlorn younger mouse a searching glance. "Just tell us what we can do for you, Martin. Give us something to go on. You've got to at least meet us halfway on this."

Martin's gaze remained on the tapestry. "A different name would be nice."

"It's a bit late for that, I'm afraid. As a matter of fact, I worry that you may have missed your best chance to be happy. From what Lord Urthblood says, there may be precious little opportunity for any of us to enjoy small snatches of happiness in the days and months ahead."

"Sounds like just the kind of thing Dad would welcome," Martin said, turning away from the tapestry and walking past Matthias. "Maybe he'll get a chance to swing that sword he loves so much. I'm going up to my room now. Give the warlord my regards."

"Don't you want to know more of what was said in the council?" Matthias asked after Martin's retreating back.

"I'm sure I'll be hearing all about it," Martin replied over his shoulder as he disappeared up the stairs to the dormitory levels.

00000000000

The sun had nearly set below the western wall when Matthias emerged from Great Hall after his talk with young Martin, and most of the Abbey grounds were covered in lengthening shadows. He saw the others from the council standing by the feast tables, except for Cheek and Sam, who by this time had wandered off toward the pond. Matthias ambled toward them.

Auma noticed him coming and walked over to meet him partway. "What did Martin have to say for himself?" the badger matriarch inquired in a low voice.

"He wasn't much interested in what went on in the council," Matthias sighed. "He's gone up to his room."

"To sulk and be sullen, no doubt." Auma shook her striped head. "We've all tried to bring that fellow up right. I just can't figure him out."

"He follows his own path, no doubt about that." Matthias held out the sleeves of his mulitcolored habit, eager to change the subject. "Just look at this! I feel like a clown in this harlequin's robe. I never should have let Tess talk me into wearing it, not even for Nameday. Of all the days for a Badger Lord to show up at our gates, it would have to be the one when I'm dressed up like a travelling show fool!"

Auma looked askance at him. "Oh, I don't know, Matthias. I think it makes you look rather regal. You're just being a temperamental old mouse."

"I'm a retired warrior," Matthias said with mock self-importance. "We're allowed to be temperamental. It's a privilege of the rank."

Laughing, the two friends joined the others at the tables.

00000000000

Martin stood in the corridor just outside his half-opened dormitory room door. Deep in her own thoughts, Auma didn't notice him until she'd almost collided with the young mouse.

"Oh. Hello, Martin."

Rather than return her salutation, Martin continued to glare toward the far end of the hallway where Urthblood's new quarters were located. "He's not staying up here, in your father's old room, is he?"

"What better place for him in all of Redwall?" Auma said, struggling to remain civil. Martin's demeanor wasn't making it easy for her. "Why? Do you have a problem with this?"

"I would have preferred he be put on another level, or in another wing."

Auma felt her hackles rising. "Well, I'm sorry we can't arrange all Abbey matters around your whims. How can you say such a thing? You haven't even made any effort to get to know Lord Urthblood."

"And I don't care to. I saw enough of him when he came through the gate, and when he came up out of Cavern Hole. He is a warlike creature, and I'd rather not associate with such a beast."

This was too much for Auma. "Now listen here, you impertinent little sulk. Your behavior at today's feast was bad enough, but don't you even think about insulting Lord Urthblood. He is a guest of Redwall, and will be extended the same courtesy as any other visitor, by every Redwaller ... yourself included. If a little plain civility is too much for you to manage, then perhaps you should keep to your room while he is staying with us."

"Perhaps I should. Tell Friar Hugh to have my meals sent up to me." Martin turned to go back into his dorm, but Auma caught him on the shoulder with her massive paw, halting him in mid-turn.

"Not so fast. Your mother and father want to see you in their study."

He shrugged her paw free. "I'm an adult now, Auma. I'm not going to go running at their beck and call to receive scoldings like a naughty infant."

Auma took his arm and levered him fully into the corridor. "You are mistaken, Martin. All Redwallers are subject to a summons from their Abbot or Abbess. Just because you are Tess's son does not excuse you, or give you the right to disregard their call. Now, will you go of your own accord, or do you require me to escort you down?"

Martin leaned out and shut his door. "I can find my own way. I've been treated like a child enough today."

Auma relaxed her grip, seeing that he wasn't about to escape back into his room. "You know, Martin, you could have at least pretended to have a good time today. It would have meant a lot to your parents, and the rest of us."

"Then they should not have chosen to name this the Summer of the Three Warriors, or insisted that I attend as a guest of honor. They know I dislike being the center of attention."

"Well, maybe they thought you could put all that aside for just one day and not spoil the mood. Obviously, they were wrong." Auma shook her head. "Getting up and leaving in the middle of your father's speech! Can't you show even a little respect?"

"Maybe if they'd respect my wishes, I'd respect theirs."

"And what about Matthias? Your grandfather doted on you long after most of the rest of us gave up trying to reach you. This celebration, and the name we chose for this season, was as much for his honor as yours. Three Warriors, Martin - Matthias, Mattimeo and you, even though you reject the name. Matthias is quite old. He had no reason to believe he'd live long enough to see you come of age to take the sword. Even if you declined the weapon, you should have accepted the honor, for your grandfather's sake if nothing else."

"My grandfather is the only one who understands me well enough not to place conditions on our friendship. He accepts me for what I am, and doesn't try to force me to be what I'm not. I think he was as uncomfortable seeing me forced to attend today's feast as I was to be there. I spoke with him after the meeting in Cavern Hole. If I offended him this afternoon, he didn't show it."

"Ah ... and what was that smack on the ear he gave you?"

"Oh. He told you about that."

Auma nodded. "You've made us all very upset with you today, Martin, and not even Lord Urthblood's arrival can make us forget your behavior. I did my part to raise you as best I could. You're of age now, and I've got other young ones to mother and nurture. You still have some growing up to do, and you'll have to do it on your own, because I can't help you anymore."

Martin started down the stone staircase, on his way to his parents' chamber. Auma merely watched him go, shaking her head in sad bewilderment, as she always seemed to after a talk with the troubled young mouse.

"Where did we go wrong with him?" she asked the empty corridor.

00000000000

"Where did we go wrong with you?" Mattimeo demanded of his son a short time later.

In all the scoldings he'd received from his father during all the seasons of his young life, Martin usually wore either of two expressions. One was anguish, with his features screwed up as though he might cry out at any moment, although he never would shed so much as a single tear. As he grew toward adulthood, that appearance of inner turmoil had been increasingly replaced by one of boredom. He'd been on the receiving end of his warrior father's tirades and chastisements so many times that he seemed not to care anymore. Mattimeo's angry words would bounce off him without effect; sometimes it was impossible to tell whether Martin was even listening, for his face remained blank and his attention seemed to be elsewhere. Perhaps he retreated into some inner part of himself, dwelling upon secret thoughts that he shared with nobeast.

This was the expression he wore now, and it was only serving to worsen Mattimeo's black temper.

The atmosphere in the room was positively charged with tension. This was the study of Abbess Tess, just as it had previously served as the study for old Abbot Mordalfus, and Abbot Mortimer before that, and any number of Abbots and Abbesses before them. Much of Redwall history had been played out in this chamber, decisions of great importance made here in times of crisis or upheaval. But rarely had a mood of outright enmity existed within this refuge for the Abbey's highest leaders.

"Have you nothing to say for yourself?" Mattimeo tried to bore into his son with his angry eyes, but could not connect with Martin's disinterested gaze. It was like trying to drill through water.

Martin waited several moments before deigning to answer. "I'm only here at the summons of the Abbess. If this is all you have to say, I'll leave now."

Mattimeo paced back and forth in frustration. "When I was a youngster, I had a wild streak a mile wide, and got into more mischief than anybeast at Redwall. I was always expecting the same from you, and I'm sure I could have handled that. But not this, Martin. You're sullen, disrespectful, rude, withdrawn ... and no matter how I've tried to reach you, you won't let me through. I have tried to make a warrior out of you, tried as hard as I know how. And still ... nothing."

Martin let an edge of bitterness creep into his voice. "Perhaps you should not have tried to MAKE me anything, Father."

"You ruined our Nameday festival," Mattimeo accused. "I almost think you did it by design. You had no right to do that."

"Oh? And you had no right to expect me to be a legend."

"When did I ever tell you that?"

"On the day I was born, and every day since then." The young mouse shook his head. "I am not Martin the Warrior, but I cannot escape from him. He lives in every corner of Redwall. Everybeast here expected me to be just like him. But no one ever asked me how I felt about it."

"That's no excuse for the way you acted today."

"Actually, it is," Martin challenged. "And if you'd only stop to think it through, you'd see how true that is."

Mattimeo paced back and forth, teeth clenched, glancing between his son and the floor. "From this day on I will stop trying to make you into a decent citizen of Redwall, or correct your atrocious manners. I had all of that I can stand, and if I don't let it go now I'll make myself sick. Your behavior is no longer my concern. If you wish to act so insolent and drive away every beast who might extend you their friendship, that is your affair. Maybe you may still find the warrior's way. Lord Urthblood warns of a great crisis coming, and weak, selfish creatures never fare well in such times. Maybe such a crisis is what you've needed all this time, to bring out your true mettle. Lord knows, the soft living of peace hasn't done much to build your character into that of a worthy beast. Perhaps war will succeed for you where I have failed."

Martin's tone grew angry to match his father's. "You'd actually like that, wouldn't you? A nice little war, all for my benefit. Tell me, Father, how many creatures would have to suffer and die in order for me to prove myself to your satisfaction?"

This made Mattimeo even angrier. "You've never understood what it means to be a warrior! You've never even tried! We don't relish war ... we abhor it, perhaps more than anybeast, because we're the ones who have to fight, and kill, and sometimes lay down our own lives for the sake of this Abbey, and our way of life. But I guess that doesn't mean much to you, does it?"

"Do you really believe that, Father? Are you sure that warlike brute who's come into our midst hasn't stirred your battle lust and got you spoiling for some beasts to slay?"

Mattimeo clenched his fists, and Martin braced himself for a blow. But it never came.

"No. No, I will not strike you, however much you goad me." Mattimeo's voice was level, but the eyes of the warrior mouse were red-flecked with rage. "I won't compound my failure even more by doing that. Just tell me one thing, Martin: if the enemies of Redwall came to our gate tomorrow and threatened to slaughter and enslave us all, would you even then refuse to pick up arms and defend your home and family?"

Martin was silent for a few moments, then he answered, flatly and simply, "I don't know."

When Mattimeo next spoke, he sounded drained and tired. "You are a disgrace to the name of Martin and the spirit of Redwall, and an embarrassment to this family."

"Maybe I am," Martin said calmly, retreating to his former ambivalent attitude. "But if you're disappointed because I've failed to meet the goals you set for me before I was even born, don't expect me to be too upset about it."

Mattimeo turned away from his son, glowering wordlessly at the corner of the study.

"Martin, why do you hate your father so?" the Abbess asked softly.

"I don't hate him, Mother. I don't wish harm to any creature. I merely resent that I have never been allowed the chance to be who I would have become on my own, without the name of a legend or the expectations of an entire abbey weighing upon me. Maybe that's why I like to be by myself: I'm searching for the mouse I could have been. But Redwall isn't a very easy place in which to seek solitude."

"Then maybe you should consider leaving," Mattimeo said to the corner.

Martin looked at his father's back. "The thought has crossed my mind."

Tess held up both paws. "Please, please, both of you ... Much has been said here in the heat of anger. Perhaps these were things that needed to be said, but with emotions running so high, I would not hold either of you to remarks you might have made differently, or not at all, in calmer and cooler moments. I am speaking now as Abbess, not wife or mother. The family of Redwall has room for all but evil creatures, and I do not see any of those in this chamber. So do not speak lightly - either of you - about one of us leaving our community."

She turned to her son. "Martin, I know you have problems and feelings that you have to work out, and maybe we are even partly to blame for that, as you maintain. But no other creature can get into your heart and mind, and you are an adult now. We can no longer raise you or school you like a child. Whatever answers you need to solve your dilemma, you must find them within yourself. You have made it plain you do not wish to assume the mantle of warrior, or have others tell you what you should be. Very well ... be your own mouse, with all my blessing. Look within yourself, and find the beast you truly are. But never forget that you are surrounded by creatures who would gladly extend you their love and friendship, and will help you if they are able. As long as you do no harm, I would urge you to remain here at Redwall, to enjoy the comforts and protection of this Abbey. Perhaps you will find a place among us more easily than you imagine."

"And if what I seek is not to be found at Redwall?"

"Then ... then, I suppose, you must go where you will. But it is one thing if you depart of your own choice, and quite another if you feel you are forced to leave by ill will." Tess looked toward her husband, her face defiant in spite of the wetness in the corners of her eyes. "I shall not allow that to happen to any creature of Redwall, least of all to my own son." She turned back to Martin. "Some of my very closest friends have become convinced that you can never be happy, because you prefer to be miserable. I believe otherwise, even if the way to happiness has not yet shown itself to your troubled spirit. Someday, I hope, you will find contentment, and enjoy the friendship of your fellow creatures. And I would rather that happen here, where we may all enjoy the benefit of your comradeship. But if your road leads elsewhere ... " And now a tear did roll down Tess's cheek, "Well, I can at least hope you'll find your way back to us, if only for a visit once in awhile."

If Martin was at all moved by his mother's display of emotion, he gave no outward sign. "I'll be up in my room, trying to find myself," he announced, and left his parents without another word.

Tess let her tears flow freely now. After an awkward moment of uncertainty, Mattimeo crossed the study and embraced her tenderly.

"Why, oh why can't he be happy, Matti?" she sobbed into her husband's shoulder.

Mattimeo's heart was torn by seeing his wife reduced to tears. He cradled her gently. "If I didn't love him, I'd kill him," he murmured to the wall. "I swear I would."


	2. Chapter 2

A short time later, Martin was padding his way across the eastern Abbey grounds with a sack of foodstuffs from the kitchens slung across his shoulder. As he often did, he was leaving Redwall temporarily in favor of the solitude of Mossflower Woods, where there was plenty of room for a creature to be alone. This habit of his had only contributed to his reputation as an unfriendly and antisocial mouse, but Martin didn't care; he cherished his periodic escapes from the close community of Redwall. And after the confrontation with his parents the night before, the time was perfect for one of his famous excursions.

Martin had kept to his room all night and through the morning and lunch hours, not at all keen on meeting up with his mother, father, Matthias, Auma, or especially that badger warrior who'd moved in down the corridor from him. After lunch, when most Redwallers would have settled into their afternoon duties and routines, Martin crept down to the kitchens as unobtrusively as he could. Friar Hugh all but ignored Martin as the young mouse stuffed his burlap bag with two or three days' provisions; he knew without asking what the Warrior's temperamental son was up to, and let Martin take what he wanted without comment. From there, Martin stole up the steps from Cavern Hole to Great Hall and out onto the cloisters. The few creatures he passed did not try to engage him in conversation, knowing better than to try when Martin was outfitted for one of his infamous sojourns.

Martin made straight for the small gate in the eastern wall. In the distance he saw Sam, Elmtail and a few other squirrels of the Mossflower Patrol setting up a line of archery targets near the gardens. If they noticed Martin at all, they did not acknowledge him, choosing to busy themselves in their task. Closer to paw, Jube's nephew Droge was cavorting on the lawns with two of the other Abbey children, Padgett the mole and Cuffy the dormouse. From the sound of their antics, they were playing "Martin the Warrior," complete with the clack of wooden toy swords and heroic shouts of defiance. Martin hung his head lower and trudged past the rowdy youngsters.

"Hey, look! It's Martin the Turd!"

Martin stopped dead in his tracks and turned to face his young tormentors. Hedgehog, mole and dormouse stood abreast of one another, their angelic smiling faces the perfect picture of innocence. He couldn't tell which one had taunted him, and they weren't about to tell. The standoff lasted several seconds; then, unable to keep their composure any longer, the three youths broke into fits of giggles and ran toward the orchard, their peals of laughter filling the summer afternoon.

Martin shrugged to himself and continued on his way. He'd long ago grown used to such teasing and scorn, and not just from the children of Redwall. But lately the names had been getting worse, more crude and insulting than ever. He knew for a fact that Cheek had used the very same epithet that Droge and his playmates had just called him. And there were others. "Martin the Toad," "Martin the Worrier," "Lessermouse," "Ratface" ... most probably thought up by the otter master-at-arms, who made no effort whatsoever to hide his disdain over how Mattimeo's son had failed to live up to the legends. It was no wonder that even the younger children openly made fun of him, when Cheek provided an example for them to follow.

He was almost at the gate when something made him look up. A large bird was describing a slow, wide circle high over the Abbey. It was too far up for Martin to make out what type, but surely a bird of prey.

Friend or foe? It didn't matter to Martin. The east gate let out almost onto the fringes of Mossflower Woods. A short dash, and he would be safely hidden by the forest canopy. A veteran of many lone excursions into the woodlands, Martin had long ago learned all the tricks of avoiding predators. It was one of the few things in his father's warrior lessons that Martin had taken to heart and learned well. At times like this, that training came in quite handy.

Pausing outside the wall to ease the gate shut, Martin checked skyward to make sure the coast was clear and that no winged killer was about to swoop down upon him. He sighted the bird, still too high to pose any immediate threat. Even if it noticed him, Martin knew he could make it to the nearest line of trees before it would have enough time to close the distance, given its altitude. Still, best not to take chances; a hunter that size could lift him clear off the ground, food sack and all. Martin put his head down and went into a crouched sprint for Mossflower. He made it safely, disappearing into the cool green shade of the woods.

Overhead, the giant bird continued to circle Redwall.

00000000000

A hearty fire blazed upon the hearth, golden flames licking the sides of the lower chimney. Occasional raindrops blown down the flu caused a momentary sputter and sizzle, but the fire quickly recovered each time, refusing to yield to the wayward precipitation. The dancing glow created a very cozy and homey atmosphere within the Warrior's cottage.

Three deep highbacked chairs were pulled up around the fireplace. Matthias sat with legs raised on a small footstool, wiggling his toes in the welcome warmth. The elder Warrior had long ago given up wearing the sandals customary to the male mice of Redwall, finding it more comfortable in his old age to go about barepawed.

His two oldest friends shared the late evening with him. After dinner had wound down in Great Hall, Matthias, Jess Squirrel and Winifred the otter had taken the lower tunnel that ran from Cavern Hole to the door of the gatehouse cottage. That way, they were able to get to Matthias's abode without more than a few moments' exposure to the wicked weather outside. A fire had seemed most appropriate for so wild a night, and Matthias had lit one straightaway.

Now, with the wind howling safely without and the rain drumming loudly upon the roof shingles, the world seemed to have shrunk itself down to just this one room for the three friends.

"Never thought we'd be enjoying a fire in the middle of summer," Winifred remarked, entranced by the jumping spears of flame. "And I do mean enjoying. This would be a miserable night without it."

"And listen to that wind!" Jess added. "It's enough to blow a full grown squirrel clear out of the treetops."

Matthias gazed into the fire, his memories revisiting an earlier season. "Hard summer rains like this will always remind me of the time Slager tricked his way into Redwall and made off with our young ones, after drugging us all and murdering two of us. It wasn't chilly like tonight, but the sky seemed to be weeping for our loss that day. I will never forget the sight of old Basil Stag Hare finding Friar Hugo's poor soaked corpse in the bushes outside the north wall. Basil was shedding as many tears as the clouds, cuddling Hugo as if he thought he could will that mouse back to life ... " Matthias sighed. "No summer storm since has heralded such misery at Redwall, and I pray none ever does."

Jess and Winifred both remembered those events well themselves. Jess had joined Matthias and Basil in their quest for the stolen youngsters, a quest that took them all the way to the dark kingdom of Malkariss, while Winnie had stayed at Redwall, where she helped fight off the invading forces of General Ironbeak.

"When I think about all we could have lost then," Jess mused, "I suppose things turned out better than we had any right to expect. We lost some good friends but gained others, we got our young ones back, and we brought down that wicked underground city that held so many goodbeasts in bondage. And we've had peace ever since."

Winifred nodded. "You two did well. If my Winokur had ever been taken as a young pup, I'd've marched to the ends of the earth to get him back, and fought anybeast who tried to stop me."

Jess turned to her otter friend. "Winnie, do you ever have regrets about waiting until so late in life to start a family?"

"Not at all," Winnie smiled. "Quite the contrary - I count my blessings every time I realize how close motherhood nearly passed me by. I'd pretty much resigned myself to being an old Abbey spinster, when that woodland ruffian Waronkur came to Redwall, swept me off my paws and stole my heart, married me and gave me a fine son. For all his faults, he's the father of my Winokur, and in that he gave me more than I ever thought I'd have."

"Still," said Matthias, "you must be disappointed that Waronkur decided to return to Mossflower and not stay here at Redwall. He's your husband, and you deserve better than that."

Winifred shrugged. "To be honest, it doesn't really bother me all that much. I knew Waronkur had a wanderer's spirit when I married him, and I wasn't that surprised when he left. I think Wink inherited some of his father's wildness. Goodness knows, Cheek, Auma and I have had our paws full enough, trying to make him into a respectable Redwaller. But if there's anything we're good at here, it's raising children. If Waronkur only comes to visit his son once a season, well, it's still more of a father than our orphan youngsters have. You were an orphan yourself, Matthias, left at our gate when you were an infant, so you must understand."

The elder mouse Warrior was not as forgiving toward Winifred's straying mate. "I'll never know why my parents, or guardian, or whoever it was, left me here at Redwall. But my youth as an orphan taught me how to be a better father to my own Matti. Waronkur knows he has a son here, and he has no good excuse not to be on paw to raise Winokur. I'm sorry, Winnie. Your husband turned out to be an irresponsible lout as far as I'm concerned."

"Well, I forgave him his shortcomings long ago. Mind you, there are times when I feel exactly as you do, Matthias, and I promise myself I'll crown him next time he drags his rudder across our threshold. But every time he shows up after a season or so of wanderings, I find myself hugging him as tightly as when we were courting. What can I say? It's better to be in love with an untameable rogue in the autumn of life than to have never loved at all."

"He's made you happy," Jess observed. "And that's what's important."

"And Wink feels the same as I do," Winifred said. "My biggest fear was always that he'd leave Redwall to go wandering with his father one of these seasons. Think he would have by now, if it hadn't been for Cheek taking Winokur under his flipper as his senior leveret, and the strong sense of community that's instilled in him. That scoffbag of ours has proven almost as much a father to Wink as Waronkur has been."

"More, I'd say," Matthias muttered.

Jess pointedly ignored her mouse friend's grousing. "As you say, Winnie, Winokur has given you enough to keep your paws full these past seasons. But that's the way of young ones. My own Sam had his father and I quite worried when he refused to speak as a youngster. You'd never guess, looking at him today, that he's the same squirrel as our little 'Silent Sam' who never said a word. He just needed to find himself in his own time. I remember when Mattimeo was born, Sam just started talking at the baby and never stopped, day or night. There's always been a special bond between those two."

Matthias nodded. "Yes, and once Matti was old enough to get around on his own, he was quite a pawful himself."

"Talk about understatement!" Winnie laughed. "He was the terror of Redwall! You, Cornflower, and Constance together weren't enough to keep that wild little scamp in order."

Jess smiled. "He and my Sam and Tim and Tess Churchmouse used to get into such trouble together. Who would've guessed that those four would become our champion, our Abbess, our historian and the leader of the Mossflower Patrol?"

"As Winnie said, we Redwallers are pretty good at raising our young ones into respectable goodbeasts. It's the way of things for them to give us a few seasons of grief before they grow up and become responsible Abbeydwellers." Matthias smoothed out the sleeves of his plain habit and rolled them up a bit, warmed by the heat of the fire. "These days, it's my grandson who's giving grief to Matti and Tess."

Jess and Winifred fell silent for some moments. The kind of consternation that young Martin had caused at Redwall was quite a different matter than the frivolities of youth they'd been discussing so far.

At length Jess broke the silence. "I overheard Tess and Mattimeo earlier. Although they're trying not to let it show, they are both concerned that Martin hasn't come back in from Mossflower yet. They thought for certain that this weather would have chased him back indoors by now. Tess was wondering if they should send Cheek or Sam out to lead a search party, in case Martin has met with trouble, but Matti didn't think it was necessary."

"It's probably not," Matthias agreed. "Martin has gotten to know these woods quite well during his solitary excursions, and he must know a score of places to hole up in weather like this where he can keep dry. If he didn't, I'm sure he'd have been banging on our gate long before now."

"Not banging," Jess corrected. "Remember? Tess ordered the east wall gate to be kept unlocked for Martin, when that big bird was around. For all we know, he could have slipped inside already and be back up in his room right now, snug and dry."

"He does know how to sneak about," said Winifred, "just like a rat or fox. I'm sorry, Matthias, I know he's your grandson, and the son of our Abbess, but ... " The old otter shook her head vigorously, as if trying to shake something unpleasant from her fur. "He's just so flippin' unpersonable, and he's got no reason to be. Imagine, any creature preferring to be out in the wild on a night like this instead of safe and dry in a soft Redwall bed! I hope he gets soaked, just to teach him a lesson."

The elder Warrior's eyelids drooped as he contemplated the fire. "Let's not judge young Martin too harshly. He has his own burden to carry, and we must be understanding of that." Matthias closed his eyes completely. "Perhaps my wife should not have chosen to name him after Redwall's founding Warrior."

For the space of many heartbeats, the only sound in the room was the crackling of the fire and the whoosh of the wind outside, audible through the closed door and windows and through the fireplace where it pulled the dancing flames far up into the chimney.

"You still miss Cornflower greatly, don't you?" Jess asked softly.

Matthias heaved a deep, long sigh. "I've fought the hordes of Cluny, I've fallen from the highest roof peak into the Abbey pond, I slew the great serpent Asmodeus to get back the sword of Martin, and I marched halfway to the ends of the world to get our sons and daughters back from Slagar and do battle with the dark forces of Malkariss. I've been buried in stone, drenched in rivers, flung over chasms and wounded in battle. And in all my long life, the hardest thing I've ever had to do was learn to live without Cornflower."

The old mouse Warrior shifted in his chair. "They say that when one partner of a devoted couple passes from this world, the other very often is soon to follow. When Cornflower passed away, I was sure that I would join her swiftly. But the days turned into a season, then two, and the pain of her loss grew less intense with time. And still I refuse to die."

Matthias opened his eyes and stared hard at the fireplace mantle, where a small dye painting of his late wife, done by Auma's father Orlando, sat propped against the wall. "You know, I've been getting the feeling more and more these days that there's a reason I'm still alive. Call it a suspicion that fate is not through with me yet, and that I might still have some part to play in this world before I move on to the next." A soft, sad smile lifted the corners of his mouth and glistened in his eyes. "Cornflower always was more patient than I. She'll understand if I have business to conclude here before I can join her, and she'll wait for me."

Winnie hesitantly tousselled her whiskers with one paw. "Unfinished business, huh? Uh, Matthias ... has the spirit of Martin been talking to you again?"

"What? Oh, no ... Just call it a feeling in my bones that's been growing stronger lately. And with the news Lord Urthblood has brought to us, I fear I may yet live to see times of great trouble. Perhaps it is my fate to die a warrior's death, and not pass away peacefully in my sleep some night as Cornflower did." He chuckled softly to himself, breaking the dire mood that his words has woven.

"What's so funny?" Jess asked him.

"I'm just trying to picture myself returning to the occupation of warrior. A barefoot, graying old mouse who could barely lift a broadsword anymore, much less swing it."

Winifred giggled. "Well, you could always go into battle wearing that colored robe Tess gave you for Nameday. You wouldn't have to worry about wielding any sword ... your enemies would go blind just looking at you!"

The three friends' laughter joined the crackling of the fire against the howling of the wind outside, and for the moment the fury of nature and the threat of a crisis to come were overwhelmed by the joyful sound of the warm comraderie.

00000000000

The rain kept up all night, and showed no signs of abating as the gray, soggy summer morning broke over Mossflower. A somber breakfast was taken in Great Hall, followed a few hours later by an even more somber lunch. Nobeast could remember the last time it had rained so hard for so long, and there was some concern that the gardens might suffer damage from this prolonged deluge, and that some crops might be lost. It was hardest on the children, for whom not being able to go outdoors on a summer day was just about the worst punishment that nature could have provided. Auma certainly had her paws full that day; when she wasn't traversing the tunnels to the belltower and climbing the stairs to sound the day's various tollings, she was chasing around the Abbey after restless youngbeasts who were trying to make the hallowed halls of Redwall make do for the outside places they couldn't go.

Shortly after the noon meal, Abbess Tess stood at an east-looking window in the upper dormitories, gazing out over the east wall into the fastnesses of Mossflower Woods. The dense green forest canopy, normally a haven of cool beauty in summer, had been transformed by the wet, overcast day into a dark and forbidding place.

"I don't like it," she said to her husband. "Martin shouldn't be outside the wall in weather like this ... I don't care what shelter he may have found for himself, it's dangerous out there."

Mattimeo stood near his wife's side. "Do you want me to lead a search party through the closer woods?"

After long moments, Tess nodded.

The Warrior mouse turned to leave . "I'll go tell Cheek and Sam to make themselves ready. It won't be easy, going through Mossflower on a day like this. But we'll do what we can."

00000000000

If Cheek harbored any qualms about venturing out into the downpour, the otter hid it well, whistling cheerily to himself as if gussing himself up for a summer picnic outing. His fellow arms master presented a very different picture: Sam was painstakingly fastening his fishskin raingear about him with the grimness of a warrior girding for battle.

The red squirrel gave his friend an acid glare. "Please do me a favor, Cheek, and don't be so happy. We're going out into a deluge!"

An' wot's wrong with that, Sam m'lad? Why, earlier me 'n' my otter chaps were out for a grand ol' swim in the pond. Refreshin', it was!"

"Easy for you to speak. You waterdogs are made to get wet. If this big bushy tail of mine gets soaked, it'll totally throw off my sense of balance. If I tried to climb a tree like that, I'd probably fall right out of it!"

"So, don't go climbin' any bally trees." Cheek glanced across Great Hall to see Mattimeo coming down from the spiral stone staircase. "Ah, here comes our champ chap. Guess we can push off now, wot?"

The Warrior mouse walked across the sandstone floor over to where they stood. Mattimeo had traded his usual Abbey habit for a smart, short tunic that wouldn't slow him down as much when it got wet. The sword of Martin was strapped across his back; between that and Cheek's javelin, they were well prepared to meet any threat they might encounter. Sam wore a short sword of his own under his raincoat instead of his bow and quiver of arrows, since it would be nearly impossible to sight a shaft properly and launch it true for any distance in such heavy rain.

"Are we all ready?" Mattimeo inquired.

"Right as rain!" Cheek answered joyfully. Sam groaned and nodded.

"I hope this doesn't take too long, although it probably will, knowing my son. Well, we might as well be off."

"Righto!" Cheek opened the doors and swung them wide. Immediately a wash of wind-driven rain was blown into the entry alcove of Great Hall, wetting the three of them before they'd even set a paw outside. The otter stepped forth into the storm without a second thought.

Sam turned up the collar of his raincoat. "Well, at least the thunder and lightning have stopped." Ducking their heads into the teeth of the wind, he and Mattimeo followed after Cheek, shutting the doors behind them on the way out.

The weather sounds made it difficult to hear Cheek's carefree whistling, or anything else for that matter. They found they could only communicate by shouting at each other through the wind and rain. By the time they reached the small east gate, Mattimeo was wiping the water from his eyes for the umpteenth time and casting envious glances at Sam's floppy wide-rimmed hat. He leaned close to his friend and shouted, "Wish I'd had enough sense to grab a hat like that for myself."

"Can't all be lucky enough to be born a squirrel!" Sam yelled back.

Cheek was first to the gate. He gave it a pull but it stayed quite firmly in place. "Hullo, wot's this? Bolted!"

Mattimeo drew up alongside him. "Huh? What was that?"

Cheek turned to the Warrior mouse. "I say, somebeast went an' bolted the bally door, even after you 'n' Tessie ordered it kept unlocked. If that young scallywag o' yours did try to come back in from Mossflower, he jolly well couldn't've got in this way!"

Mattimeo wiped the clinging raindrops from his whiskers with a paw. "All the more reason now why we should go search for Martin."

Cheek cocked his head to one side. "Eh, wot's that? Sorry .. some bally rain fell in my ear."

Mattimeo leaned closer. "Get the gate open!" he shouted. "We can talk better under the wal!"

The perimeter wall that enclosed Redwall and its grounds - and gave the Abbey its name - was of such thickness that going through any of its four gates was like going through a short tunnel. Mattimeo knew they could take a momentary respite from the rain in the overhang beyond the gate. It would give them their last opportunity to hold a normal conversation before they set off into the depths of Mossflower.

Cheek drew back the bolt and pushed the heavy gate open. As it swung into the tunnel-like opening in the wall, it met some resistance. Cheek leaned on it harder to gain a wider aperture ... until a yell from within the tunnel, barely audible over the wind and rain, made him stop.

"Hey! Hey, you oaf, you're crushing me! Stop pushing!"

The gate door was open wide enough for Cheek and the others to file through. The otter stood in the dry dimness of the tunnel space, paws on his hips, as he regarded the sodden creature who extracted itself from behind the door. "Well, well, look wot I found! A half-drowned rat laddie, if me peepers don't deceive me."

Young Martin finished extricating himself from his tight quarters. "Half crushed is more like it! That's the last time I'll nod off where somebeast can slam a door on me!" His gaze travelled to the other two creatures before him. "Oh. Hullo, Dad. I thought you might leave a gate unlocked for me in this weather, but I guess that would be asking too much."

"We don't know how this gate got bolted," Mattimeo explained to his son. "It was supposed to be kept open. Uh ... are you all right?"

"A bit bruised, and very wet. Nothing I won't quickly recover from."

Cheek looked down at the young mouse, who was drenched to the skin despite having been in the shelter of the tunnel. "I say, old chum, just how long have you been out here?"

"Since early this morning," Martin answered. "When my log shelter in the woods was threatening to float away and take me with it, I decided it was time to head home. When I got here I tried all four gates, and every one was locked. There was nobeast up on the walls to see me, and nobeast to hear me when I pounded and cried to be let in. So, I curled up out here to ride out the storm."

"Good thing then that we set out to look for you when we did," said Sam. "This rain doesn't show any sign of letting up anytime soon. You could have been out here all night."

Mattimeo smiled, not without a hint of malice. "Oh, an adventure like this never hurt anybeast. Builds character ... and I'm sure this will make Martin appreciate his nice warm, soft bed all the more."

Cheek laughed. "Oh, this sodden ol' sod never needed help appreciatin' his bed, judgin' by the amount o' time he spends in it!"

Martin ignored the boisterous otter. "Can we just get inside, please? I've been out here long enough."

"Certainly." Mattimeo held the gate wide for the others to pass back into the Abbey grounds. "At least you saved us a lot of time and trouble, by us finding you here. And your mother will be relieved to know you're safely back at Redwall."

"Aha." Martin ducked his head and followed Sam and Cheek back to the Abbey through the rain. Mattimeo watched his son's back for awhile, then stepped into the rain himself, making sure to firmly bolt the gate door behind him.

00000000000

If the creatures of Redwall weren't exactly overjoyed to have Martin back among them, there was at least a general sense of relief that one of their family, no matter how unsociable, was safely out of any possible danger. Martin took a quick repast in the kitchens, warming himself by the stoves as he ate until he was dried out and his appetite satisfied, then he went up to his room for some bedrest. Nobeast was surprised when he'd developed a mild fever by suppertime, and few felt much sympathy for the young mouse, as long as the malady didn't threaten to turn into something more serious. In fact, most Redwallers took secret delight at the thought that Sister May would now have an excuse to force some of her foul-tasting herbal remedies on young Martin. All for his own good, of course ...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: No, it never was revealed who bolted that gate. I suspect it was Urthblood, although he probably would have readily admitted to such a thing, then turned it around to make the Redwallers feel guilty for their lax security. Perhaps it was Droge or one of his playmates, but if so, they never stepped forward and confessed. So this mystery will have to remain as such, even to me ...


	3. Chapter 3

That evening, while most of the Redwallers were enjoying a lighthearted supper in the stained-glass splendor of Great Hall, Sister May took a tray of hot vegetable soup and cool drinks up to Martin's room.

The young mouse was as happy to see the Infirmary Keeper as he ever was to see any other beast. Propped up on his pillows, he barely acknowledged her when she pushed open his door with one foot and entered his room bearing her tray. But the sprightly healer was never one to let others spoil her cheery mood, so she helped herself to a seat alongside Martin's bed, setting the tray down on the covers beside him.

"You really should be down in the Infirmary, so I don't have to come all the way up here," she said, her tone chipper rather than admonishing.

"It's just a mild fever. I don't need to go to the Infirmary." Martin took up the spoon, showing some interest in the soup in spite of himself. "I appreciate you bringing me this, though."

Sister May raised an eyebrow. Young Martin so seldom expressed appreciation for anything ... Perhaps the fever was affecting him more than he pretended. Her heart softened toward him somewhat. She'd expected his usual rudeness, but he seemed in a mood to at least make an effort to be civil, if not actually friendly.

"Beside," he added, "I'd only antagonize your other patients. Better for me to keep to my room."

"There are no other patients," Sister May informed him. "Except for you, we Redwallers are healthy as hogs just at the moment. You could have the Infirmary all to yourself if you want it."

Martin sampled the soup. "Mmm ... No, I'd better stay up here. Urthblood might stage a surprise inspection of the Infirmary. Try to install some battlements there to better defend the sick, or something like that."

"Yes, he does seem to be putting Redwall on a war footing, doesn't he?"

"That's what I've heard." Martin slurped another spoonful of the steaming vegetable broth. "All ready for war ... but not an enemy in sight."

"Is that why you've been avoiding him?"

"I knew the moment I saw Urthblood step through the main gate on Nameday that he was a warlike creature who cared only for the ways of fighting. I'd have nothing to say to a beast like that." Martin buried his snout in the soup. "You must think I'm being terribly rude."

Sister May hesitated a moment before speaking. "Uh ... I've been avoiding him too."

Martin looked up at her, unable to hide his surprise behind his usual mask of bland detachment. "Really?"

"Oh, yes." She proceeded to tell him all about her unnerving encounter with Urthblood during the badger's first night at Redwall. Since Martin didn't interact very much with the other Abbeydwellers, it was news to him. Had he been more sociable he might have heard rumors about it, for Sister May had already taken a number of her fellow woodlanders into her confidence, including Friar Hugh, Jube Stump, and several other members of the kitchen staff.

"I know I must sound like a silly old mouse," she concluded, "but if you'd been there ... " Sister May shook her head. "I really haven't been able to find the words to explain it properly."

"Oh, I know exactly what you're trying to say. Urthblood doesn't belong at Redwall."

"Well, yes, that's part of it," Sister May said. "But it's more than just him being a warrior. I mean, your father and grandfather are both warriors, and they're at the very heart of this Abbey. Lord Urthblood, on the other paw ... well, there's just something about him that makes my fur crawl." She leaned closer to Martin, whispering confidentially. "And I'm not the only beast who feels that way. Just this afternoon, up on the wall, he was talking to your Uncle Tim about building some sort of weapon out of giant lenses, to burn creatures with sunlight." She waited for Martin to laugh at this outlandish idea, but he merely kept his interested gaze upon her. "Well, let me tell you, when Tim talked to me alone later in the day, he said he felt he'd had enough of Urthblood's company to last him a season. He was unnerved, I could tell, same as I was. There's just something ... unnatural ... about that badger, Lord or no. Maybe supernatural is more like it. I know it's improper to talk like that about an honored guest of Redwall, especially one who's come to help us, but ... let's just say I hope Lord Urthblood stays healthy, 'cos if I had to treat him for any length of time in the Infirmary, I don't know if I could do it."

Martin drained the last bit of soup from the bowl and set it back on the tray. "That was very good, Sister May. Thanks for bringing it."

"Oh. You're welcome." She put the cool drinks on the nightstand. "I'll leave these here, in case you get thirsty later. Uh ... you won't tell anybeast about what we've been talking about, will you? I can't help the way I feel about Lord Urthblood, but I'd hate to have it get back to him."

Martin smiled slightly. "Oh, I don't know ... I think he might be flattered to learn what an impression he's made on you." Seeing her brow furrow with concern, he chuckled. "Don't worry. I don't plan on having any conversations with Urthblood anytime soon."

Sister May took the tray and stood, strangely reassured to have found a kindred spirit in so unlikely a place. "Yes, well, feel better, Martin ... I may come up again later just to check on you, make sure the fever doesn't go back up."

"Mmm hmph." Martin had closed his eyes and nestled down below his covers, a picture of contentment. Sister May took her leave, softly shutting the door behind her so that Martin could rest undisturbed.

00000000000

In the hour before sunrise, with the gray brightness of the coming dawn filtering through his window, Martin was jarred to wakefulness by a loud knock at his door.

He stumbled out of bed and crossed the cool stone floor to answer it. He was still getting over his mild fever and groggy with sleep besides, otherwise he might have been resentful of such an intrusion. As it was, he didn't even stop to wonder what beast might be disturbing him at this early hour, and opened the door without asking who it was.

Martin was more than surprised to find himself facing Lord Urthblood. For several moments the young mouse and armored badger stood like two statues, wordlessly regarding each other.

Urthblood broke the silence. "There will shortly be a council meeting of the Abbey leaders and defenders down in Cavern Hole. Your presence is requested."

Martin shrugged and pawed crust from the corners of his eyes. "I'm afraid you have me mistaken with some other mouse. I'm not one of the Abbey leaders, and I'm certainly not one of its defenders."

He started to close the door on Urthblood, but the badger's voice stopped him. "I know who you are. Son of a true warrior, grandson of an even greater one. This is the blood that flows in your veins, for all that you may deny it. The council will convene with the serving of breakfast. I shall expect to see you there."

"Well, you won't," Martin said with a trace of his famous bad temper, not caring in the least if he offended Urthblood.

"We shall see," Urthblood responded simply, then turned and walked off down the corridor. Martin stared after him, then scratched his ear, closed the door, and went back to his bed, where he fully intended to stay until a later and far more decent hour of the morning.

00000000000

The silence allowed them to hear the soft pawsteps and rustle of another creature coming down the steps into Cavern Hole. Everybeast turned to look at the newcomer, and all beheld the last creature they'd have expected to see at such a council.

Young Martin stood at the foot of the stairs, gazing at the assembly. "I believe my presence was requested," he said to them.

"I'm afraid you're mistaken, son," Mattimeo said after several awkward moments, his surprise giving way to anger. His insolent son could only have come down here with one thought in mind: to disturb and to mock these proceedings. "Nobeast asked you to be here."

"I requested his presence," Urthblood rumbled in contradiction to the warrior mouse.

"Oh?" Tess looked from the badger to her son and back again. "We didn't know ... have you and Martin been formally introduced?"

"Not formally, no."

"Oh," the Abbess said again, quite overtaken by this turn of events. "It seems we don't have a free chair. Auma, if you could go fetch one ... "

"Don't bother, Mother." Martin paced his way around the table to stand off toward one corner of Cavern Hole. "I'll just listen in from here. I'm sure I won't have anything to contribute to this august gathering."

Martin's unabashed sarcasm did nothing to improve his father's temper. "No, I'm sure you wouldn't." If a mouse could have growled ...

Matthias turned in his chair to face his grandson. "Lord Urthblood has just finished telling us about an amazing task he has undertaken." The old warrior mouse looked toward Urthblood. "So amazing, in fact, that I still cannot believe how it could possibly work. Tell us, My Lord, just how successful you have been in controlling your vermin, and how the other northlanders feel about what you are doing."

"Things in the north have always been pretty much the same as here," Urthblood began. "That is to say, there are the decent, honest creatures, many of whom farm for a living, and then there are the thieves and barbarians who produce nothing for themselves and must take what they need from others or else starve. I took a long look at this state of affairs, and realized that if the farmers and growers of food did not have to spend so much of their time and effort fighting off those who would steal it, they could produce much more ... enough to feed the very foes who would otherwise take it by force. And harvests have indeed improved in the regions I have been at work, with many formerly barren acres now transformed into fertile and productive croplands. The vermin who in the past would have raided these farms now march under arms to protect those very harvests. It is a new way, and one that benefits everybeast. The honest creatures no longer live in fear of losing everything to a raiding horde, and the vermin no longer go hungry. A beast who knows where its next meal is coming from is much less likely to cause trouble. And I do keep my troops well fed."

"Sounds like paradise," Matthias said skeptically.

"Hardly. The lands are still harsh, and many foebeasts remain outside my control. And there are good-hearted creatures who have known the old ways for so long that they will always be suspicious of their former enemies. But by creating this standing army, I have not only forged a weapon to meet the coming crisis, but also found a solution to the long history of conflict between vermin and honest creatures. It is a fundamental change in the way things have always been, and something that should have been attempted long before now. So much suffering could have been prevented."

It was then that Cheek asked a question which had not occurred to any of his fellow Redwallers.

"I say, how does your brother feel about all this? Can't imagine too many badgers-in-arms wantin' to cozy up to rats an' weasels, wot? Or his fightin' hares wantin' to march alongside 'em."

"Like most goodbeasts, my brother remains distrustful of vermin. He has chosen not to involve himself in my campaigns, since he has all he can do to hold Salamandastron and the coastlands against King Tratton and his searats. He has never fully embraced my ideas on this matter, choosing more traditional allies. Perhaps after I can show him how much I have already accomplished, he may come to see that our old enemies can be won over to the side of decency. The sight of vermin holding their heads high in pride and self-respect as they march alongside shrews, squirrels and otters ... it has swayed the opinion of others more skeptical than my brother."

"Still," said Mattimeo, "it sounds as if he's not too keen on the whole thing."

"One could say so," Urthblood nodded. "But I have followed my own path for the sake of the salvation of the lands, and he has followed his. If my brother does not fully agree with my aims, I would still not dispute the vital work he has done in his own station. By holding the coastlands secure, he has allowed me the freedom to pursue what I feel is the best hope for all beasts. If I am right in what I am doing, it will be proven so for all to see, and not even my brother Urthfist will be able to deny the great value of my endeavors."

"But if you are wrong, will any of us survive?"

All eyes turned to the unassuming figure of the young mouse standing away from the table.

"What makes you ask that?" Urthblood said to Martin.

"Well, I came in on this late, but unless I misunderstand, you have put large numbers of vermin under arms and trained them to fight. You seem intent upon adding even more to your current army in the seasons ahead. It seems to me that you could be creating a terrible engine of destruction, which might prove unstoppable if it should ever turn against us. You have whipped up a storm single-pawed, and if the grip of your leadership is the only thing holding it in check, I pray your grip does not loosen; otherwise that storm will be unleashed upon the lands, and we may all be destroyed."

"Spoken like a true non-warrior," the Badger Lord commented.

"It is we non-warriors who will suffer most if the force of your will proves insufficient to keep your war machine under control."

"Ahh ... But you should not underestimate the force of my will. It has already allowed me to tame much of the northlands and slay many of the worst horde leaders. A prophecy of doom was laid upon me twenty seasons ago, when I was touched by the paw of fate. This has never left me. The force of my will has the power of destiny behind it." Urthblood drew his sword and laid it upon the table amongst the breakfast items. It was the first time any of the Redwallers had glimpsed the blade outside of its scabbard; the mighty weapon was dull with age and use, except along its double cutting edges, which shone with a keen sharpness where they weren't notched or pitted. While not as splendid as the majestic sword of Martin, it was every bit as much the blade of a true warrior.

"The evil beasts of the north have come to know this weapon well, and those who still survive fear it. But its power goes beyond killing. This blade has also made enemies into allies, and brought peace of mind to terrorized gentlebeasts. No enemy has ever been able to best me since I began my northland campaigns, and it is my intention that none ever shall. My actions are to create peace, not destroy it."

"How commendable."

Mattimeo turned to his son, unable to control himself in the face of such sarcasm toward Lord Urthblood. "Shut up!"

Auma was quick to join Mattimeo in condemning Martin. "Your father's right. You can at least show some basic courtesy toward our guest, even if you do not agree with him. If you are incapable of this, you should keep your mouth shut." She turned to her fellow badger. "I apologize for his behavior, My Lord. I don't know why you wanted Martin at this council, but I fear it was a mistake to ask him here."

Urthblood waved a dismissive paw. "I take no offense at his behavior. He is entitled to his opinions, and to express them in whatever ill manner suits him. And he is quite correct when he points out that all beasts will be affected by the coming crisis, himself included. That is why I am working so hard, on such a large scale, to prevent the prophecy if I can."

He addressed the entire council. "I have told you all of this for several reasons. First of all, you are entitled to an explanation of what I have been doing in the northlands, and why. I had promised you this, and now I have delivered on that promise.

"More important was the fact that you heard this from me rather than somebeast else. I have made enemies with my campaigns, many of whom realize they would stand no chance against me on the battlefield. These foes must resort to another weapon instead: lies. Since my aims are so unusual and easily misunderstood, my enemies often try to divide the honest creatures with falsehoods about what I am really trying to do, creating distrust among the allies I must have to complete my work. If they had somehow managed to tell you that I have taken vermin into my ranks before I'd had the opportunity to properly explain myself, then they might have succeeded in sowing doubts and suspicion among you. I took a chance waiting as long as I did to tell you, but I wanted to address the defenses of this Abbey before all else. And what I have told you today could only have been said at a full council, as I am sure you all understand."

"Yes, I can see why," Tess concurred. "But I have a question. You have told us that some of your forces are right here in northern Mossflower. I take it there are vermin among them?"

"Of course. When I was getting ready to move south, I chose to accompany me those troops whose skills I thought would best suit the journey. They were selected for their abilities as individuals, not for what kind of beast they happened to be."

"Still," said Mattimeo, "it was chancy bringing such a force to Mossflower, where vermin are held in suspicion and distrust."

"There has been no trouble so far," Urthblood said. "But that is another reason I had to inform you of all this. Some day you may see a group of creatures traveling these lands, and that group may be headed by a rat or fox, a stoat or a ferret. You can no longer assume that they are enemies, because they might be mine."

"How will we be able to tell?" asked the Abbess.

"For the near future, I will be here to let you know which beasts are in my service. But even after that, you will know. My soldiers carry themselves with a dignity that no thief or villain would be able to imitate. And if you see woodlanders such as otters, mice and shrews marching with them, you will know them to be friends."

Cheek gave Sam a knowing nudge with his elbow. "Can't say I've ever seen a rat or weasel wot was dignified. Have to jolly well see it to believe it."

"No," agreed Sam, "although a fox could probably put on a good show at it. Those crafty beasts can fool a woodlander into believing anything."

Urthblood said to the otter and squirrel, "You would not be the first goodbeasts to show such doubts. And if you should someday chance to meet any of my troops, I am sure you will also not be the first to be pleasantly surprised, so long as you keep an open mind."

"Can we expect them here at Redwall anytime soon?" asked the Abbess. "You said you'd give us some notice, so we could prepare to receive them."

"If I can, I will," said Urthblood. "My soldiers move as the situation dictates. My birds will try to give me advance notice of any movement toward Redwall, or out of the Mossflower region."

"As long as your band is so close, they might as well visit Redwall," Mattimeo suggested. "After all, they've come so far. And it would give us a chance to see for ourselves your honest and noble vermin."

"Although," added Tess, "you would have to promise that they would cause no harm if we let them into our Abbey."

"Of course. We shall see what the days ahead bring."

"Nothing good, I'm sure." Martin walked behind Urthblood's high-backed chair and stalked off toward the kitchens to pick out some breakfast for himself. Mattimeo glared after his son with a look that could have frozen the Abbey pond in high summer.

00000000000

The Abbess and her Warrior husband remained at the table with Lord Urthblood and Foremole after the others had left to resume their regular duties. When Martin returned from the kitchens a few minutes later, he found his parents deep in discussion with the other two about the proposed Great Hall stairs.

"Facts be facts, gennelbeasts," Foremole was saying. "Thurr doant be 'nuff stone 'n' wood at our Habbey t' carnstruct ee starway so hoigh. Uz'll need t' reopern ee quarry."

"That's more work than we bargained for," Tess said. "The quarry is a good half day's march to the east, on the other side of the River Moss. We'll need shrew boats to ferry tools and workers across, and to bring back the cut stone. Building these stairs could take us until next winter, or even spring!"

"There should be no problem cutting the necessary stone and timber and getting it all to Redwall by the start of the cold winter weather," Urthblood rumbled. "My blueprints are most precise. We will know to the exact brick and beam what will be required. Once all the material is on paw, construction can commence at its own speed. Since all work from that point on will take place indoors, it can be done even in the chilly depths of winter."

"Still, it will be a greater task than we envisioned," Mattimeo said, one eye on his son who was circling the table at a discreet distance, eyeing the food spread out there. "Yes, Martin, what is it?"

"Couldn't find anything I fancied out in the kitchens." The young mouse sidled up to the table, taking the empty seat near his father. "That cake looks pretty good. What's left of it, anyway ... it's always easy to tell when Cheek's been around." Martin cut a piece for himself, using Auma's discarded plate. He ate with his paws, ignoring utensils and throwing good table manners to the wind.

"We were just discussing something important," Mattimeo informed Martin, taking in his son's casually uncouth behavior and then turning to the badger warrior. "My Lord, I'm still not clear on why you asked Martin to come down here."

"I wanted to meet Redwall's third Warrior for myself," Urthblood answered. "I knew I would learn more about him from the way he reacted to my words this morning than I could from any casual conversation. I fear you are right, Mattimeo; your son will never be a fighting beast."

"Thank heavens for some things," Martin said through full cheeks.

"Well, now you've met him." Mattimeo gave his son a caustic glance. "Surprised you'd even lower yourself to sharing a table with Lord Urthblood."

"Oh, I'll share a table with him." Martin looked disdainfully at the badger's unsheathed sword, which still lay upon the tabletop. "But not with this." He reached out and picked up the heavy weapon to remove the offensive object from his eating space. "Things like this should not be left ... " Martin's voice trailed off.

Mattimeo gave a short harsh laugh. "First time I've seen him pick up a sword in seasons. Can't say it suits him."

Urthblood reached out his paw across Mattimeo to take his sword from Martin, then drew it back. "Abbess," he asked calmly, "what is wrong with your son?"

Tess, Mattimeo and Foremole looked at Martin. His eyes had lost their focus and glazed over, and his jaw hung slack. A series of convulsions shook his entire body, and the knuckles of his paw around the sword hilt were white. He seemed to be trying to say something, but a strained gurgle was all that came out.

"Martin?" The Abbess rose from her seat. "Martin, what's wrong?"

The young mouse rolled his eyes, and one word forced itself from his throat.

"Destroyer," he moaned with a strangled choke, then keeled over onto the stone floor with a hard thud. The sword slipped from his grasp and fell away from him, clattering heavily behind Mattimeo's chair.

Mattimeo knelt by his son. Martin seemed to have lost consciousness, his eyes tightly shut, but he was trembling like a newborn babe on a cold winter night. Mattimeo put a paw to Martin's brow. Tess came around to join her husband. "Matti, what's happened?"

"He feels feverish. I thought Sister May said he was over his fever."

"Hurr, t'wurr a vishern 'ee 'ad," Foremole said. "Could be naught else."

Urthblood got up to retrieve his fallen sword. He seemed quite unperturbed by the whole thing, regarding Martin with a cool and dispassionate gaze as he sheathed his blade. "Is young Martin often given to visions?"

"No," Tess shook her head. "He's never had a single one, as far as I know. Do you think that's what it was?"

The Badger Lord remained calm. "Either that, or he is putting on a very good performance."

"This is no act," Mattimeo said with certainty. "I can feel a bump rising on his head where it hit the floor. And he does feel very hot. I think Foremole is right."

"Wunner wot 'ee see'd?" the mole mused.

"Nothing pleasant, by the look of it," said Tess. "Matti, we've got to get him up to the Infirmary right away. He could be in danger."

Martin's seizures had subsided somewhat, and now he seemed to be merely asleep. But sweat matted the fur of his brow, which was still hot to the touch.

"I don't think there's any danger," Mattimeo said, "but I do agree that Sister May should take a look at him. He'll probably need a poultice for this head lump. I think it will be safe to move him."

"Allow me." Urthblood came forward, scooping up Martin's limp form as if it weighed almost nothing. Tess and Mattimeo went with him up the stairs out of Cavern Hole, leaving Foremole standing alone by the empty table, tugging at his snout in puzzlement.

"Wunner wot 'ee see'd?" he repeated to himself.


	4. Chapter 4

Sister May tried her best to ignore Urthblood without looking like she was ignoring him.

The badger towered over her as she sat by Martin's bedside in the Infirmary. She'd bound a herbal poultice to his injured head and laid a cool wet cloth across his forehead to help bring down his temperature. Martin had not yet regained awareness, lying in a fitful state somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. His eyes remained closed, and while his mouth occasionally worked, no words came out.

Tess and Mattimeo stood alongside Urthblood, watching their son closely. "Is he going to be all right, Sister May?" the Abbess asked.

"He'll be fine, I'm pretty sure. He can sleep here tonight, so I can keep an eye on him. I'll wager my tail he'll be up and about and back to being himself by tomorrow." A look of uncertainty crossed Sister May's face. "Although, if he really did have a vision, I can't predict exactly how he'll recover. I've never treated anything like that before."

"It happened when he touched Lord Urthblood's sword," Tess said. Sister May shuddered in spite of herself, and hoped nobeast else had noticed. Tess turned to the badger. "My Lord, what is the history of that weapon, that it might have caused such a reaction from Martin?"

"I have used this sword to slay many foebeasts, naturally, and I expect it will take many more in the seasons ahead. I do not know whether your son was seeing its past or its future, but it would be the same either way. As we agreed, Martin is not a fighting beast, so it is no surprise that a glimpse of such things might have affected him thus."

Mattimeo nodded in understanding, but a question lingered in his eyes. He spoke it aloud a few moments later, after Urthblood took his leave and strode out of the Infirmary.

"The sword of Martin has also claimed countless evil beasts down through the generations, and young Martin has handled it many times in my futile attempts to train him. But never has it caused him to have a vision such as this."

Sister May gently stroked the headfur of her delirious young patient. "The sword of Martin was never wielded by anybeast like that."

"Now, now, Sister May," the Abbess admonished, "I've heard some of the things you've been saying about our badger guest. And I know my brother Tim and some of the other Abbeydwellers share similar feelings toward Lord Urthblood. But he is still entitled to the courtesy we would give to any visitor to Redwall."

"I'm not being discourteous, Abbess, really I'm not. But I mean what I say. There are warriors, like our Matthias and your husband Mattimeo here ... and then there's Urthblood. He's not the same. I can feel it in my bones. And it makes me uncomfortable to be around him. I'm glad he left just now, because he was making me nervous just standing there."

Mattimeo tried to be more understanding. "Lord Urthblood does have the power of prophecy around him. It is not the kind of thing we Redwallers are used to." He glanced down at young Martin. "That must be why he had the vision. There's not necessarily anything sinister about it."

"You sound as if you're trying to convince yourself," Sister May told him, not meeting the mouse Warrior's gaze. "And not entirely succeeding."

The Abbess nodded slowly. "Well, it does make me uneasy that Lord Urthblood has taken vermin and foxes and put them under arms. But I guess that won't trouble us, as long as most of them stay to the northlands."

Sister May looked up at Tess. "What did you say? Vermin and foxes?"

"Yes, that's what this morning's council was about." Tess was about to explain to Sister May all about what Urthblood had told the Abbey leaders, when she was stopped by the sound of the Methuselah and Matthias bells. Tess cocked her head and listened for a moment. "Oh, no, not another storm!"

Mattimeo listened along with her. "I think that's what it's supposed to be. But Auma is making the same mistake as last time, so it sounds more like the call to arms. Funny ... with the training she's had with Cyril and Cyrus, I'd have thought she'd be able to get it right this time."

"Well, we'd best go see what it's about," said the Abbess. "I hope it's a false alarm. The last thing our poor gardens need is another storm!"

Just then, the squirrel Elmtail appeared at the Infirmary door. He stopped with one paw on the jamb, breathing hard as if he'd run all the way up from the outside. "Abbess ... Mattimeo ... there you are!" he panted.

"Storm coming, Elmtail?" Tess asked, lifting a paw to indicate the bells.

Elmtail shook his head. "Army coming ... down the road. Huge one. Vermin ... must be hundreds of 'em. And they're armed for battle!"

Sister May gasped at this news. Tess and Mattimeo exchanged a questioning look. "Urthblood's troops?" the Abbess supposed.

"I don't know," the mouse Warrior said. "Sounds too big. Elmtail, are you sure it's not just a score or two?"

"Oh no, Matti, sir. I was up on the wall ... I saw 'em myself. It's like the unholy hosts of Malkariss reborn, and marching straight toward us. Hundreds at least ... maybe a thousand."

"All vermin? Or are there any woodlanders marching with them?"

"Huh?" The question made no sense to Elmtail, who, like Sister May, had not yet been appraised of the morning council. "Uh, why would there be?"

"We'd better get out there, Tess, to see for ourselves." Mattimeo turned to Sister May. "Please stay here with Martin, and let us know if there's any change in his condition."

"Of course," the Infirmary Keeper nodded.

Tess patted her unconscious son on the shoulder lovingly, then hurried out with her husband and Elmtail to see just what kind of army was marching on Redwall.

00000000000

"I'm sorry, Dad. I don't remember anything."

Mattimeo stood at the bedside in the Infirmary, looking down at his son. Martin's tone was earnest enough to dispel any thought that the young mouse was being intentionally uncooperative. Still, Mattimeo was slightly peeved at the lack of information he was getting.

"I find that hard to believe, Martin. Your reaction was so severe you must have had a vision of some sort. A very powerful one ... I don't see how you could not remember any of it."

"Perhaps that bump on his head has something to do with it," Sister May said, rather severely, from across the bed. Martin had only fully returned to his senses a short time before, and she did not approve of having her patient drilled for information as Mattimeo was now doing. "He needs to rest now. Maybe later he will remember something."

"And maybe he won't. Maybe the memory will fade away altogether. I'd rather strike while the iron is hot, Sister May. What Martin saw might be very important."

"If he doesn't remember now, hounding him won't make him do so." Sister May locked gazes with the Warrior mouse, not the least bit intimidated. Normally she would yield to Mattimeo in almost any matter, since he was both Abbey Champion and husband to the Abbess. But Sister May stood in charge of the Infirmary, and her word was final in all matters of healing the sick and tending the injured. Here, Martin was her patient first, and Mattimeo's son second.

Mattimeo sighed in exasperation. "Sister May, perhaps you don't realize how important this may be. When Martin touched Urthblood's sword, he went into a trance and uttered one word: destroyer. Urthblood tried to dismiss the whole thing as unimportant, and I might almost have agreed with him, if it weren't for the fact that there are now several hundred very well-armed vermin camped outside our walls. They could probably conquer Redwall if they wanted to. So I must know, did Martin see something of what is to come? Something that will tell us what Urthblood's really up to, and how we may prepare against any evil that may be planned toward us? Because after this morning, I don't know if we can trust that badger."

"I don't know if we can either," said Sister May. "But if Martin can answer this dilemma for us, it will only be in his own time, when it comes back to him."

Mattimeo sat on the bed next to Martin's. "Try to remember," he implored. "What did you see? Was it the spirit of Martin the Warrior, speaking through you?"

"I've already told you, I don't remember!" Martin answered testily.

Mattimeo frowned in anger. "I know you will never be a warrior, but you cannot ignore your bloodline. Martin the Warrior has spoken to your grandfather in times of need ... it is in our family, for all that you may deny it. If fate has decreed to speak through you to warn us of some danger, then it falls to you to pass that warning along to every goodbeast at Redwall. You might not be happy at this Abbey, or to be part of my family, but that doesn't matter now. A vision entrusted to you makes you responsible for it, and whatever may come of it."

Martin stared up at his father with a vacuous gaze, as if Mattimeo's words had made no sense to him. What was going on behind his eyes it was impossible to tell. Mattimeo had no idea what impression he'd made upon Martin, or what comment the young mouse was likely to come out with in response. The blank expression held no anger, no sadness, no discernable emotion of any kind. Mattimeo began to wonder whether his son had gone into another trance. But then Martin spoke, his voice calm and level.

"I don't remember. If I did, I would tell you. But I don't."

Mattimeo stood for some moments, silently regarding his son. Then he reached down and ran his paw over Martin's head fur, careful to avoid the bandaged spot. "Okay. I believe you. But if anything comes back to you, please let us know at once."

"I will." The trace of a scowl crossed Martin's face. "But I don't need any vision to tell you I've felt all along that something terrible has been let into our home. Urthblood is ... he is war. And it will follow him wherever he goes, even to Redwall. I hope you will finally start to believe me, now that you have seen his army for yourself. That is what he is about. That's all he is about."

"You may be right." Mattimeo addressed both Martin and Sister May. "For now, we're going to keep those vermin locked outside our walls, no matter what Urthblood says. His two chief captains seem to be a fox and a squirrel. They will lunch with us down in Cavern Hole shortly. Maybe then we can take their measure and get a better idea of what we're facing."

Sister May shuddered. "A fox, eating at our tables ... can't say I'm fond of that idea."

"There's only one. I took his sword, so there can't be too much trouble he can cause by himself. Oh, and Warnokur has been marching with Urthblood's forces for the past season. Winnie's husband may be a bit of a rogue, but he's a goodbeast at heart. He might be able to give us an inside angle at what really goes on in that horde."

"Oh, I hope so," Sister May said, surprised at this bit of news. "One thing I'll say about that otter, for all his faults, he's never thought twice about voicing what's on his mind. And he's as sharp as any woodland beast. If anything evil's afoot with Urthblood, he's sure to have seen it and will tell us."

"Well, for now Cheek and Sam and I will keep Redwall on high alert, as if that were Cluny's own horde out there. And we won't let Urthblood, his fox or his squirrel out of our sight for a moment, in case they have it in mind to sneak open one of the wall gates." Mattimeo started for the door. "I have to get down to Cavern Hole before I'm missed. Rest well, Martin. I'll be up to visit you again later, if I can."

00000000000

With so much going on outside, Great Hall stood empty. The full brightness of early afternoon washed through its high stained glass windows, all the colors merging into a single hue of blazing brilliance.

The great tapestry hung motionless from its support rods, unstirred by even the faintest breath of any draft. It was well lit by the day's light, the true colors of its woven display more vibrant now than at any other hour. Upon its face, the image of Martin the Warrior looked out across the vast Hall, silently surveying the emptiness before him.

Matthias and Mattimeo came down the spiral stone staircase from the upper levels, passing out onto the wide sandstone floor of Great Hall. The two mice paused, looked at each other, then without a word both crossed to stand together before the still tapestry. It was as if some invisible force was pulling on them, beckoning them to visit the fabric likeness of Redwall's founding warrior.

"Do you think Martin is about to speak to us, Matti?" Matthias asked his son.

"I hope so. We could use something instructive from one of our Martins, and my son certainly hasn't been of any help."

"He still can't remember anything at all about his vision?"

"If it even was a vision," Mattimeo shrugged. "I'm beginning to think it may just have been a rancid scone he ate."

"It was an awfully severe reaction, from what I've heard, to have been brought on by a bit of bad food."

"So, you believe it was a vision?"

"I do."

"And what do you suppose your troubled grandson saw in his vision?"

"I cannot even begin to imagine. But nothing good, to have caused him to react in such an extreme manner."

"Do you think Martin may have been trying to speak through him?"

The elder Warrior was awhile in answering. "Whenever Martin has spoken to Redwallers in the past, he has always made himself quite clear, even if his actual words take some puzzling to figure out. Young Martin says he remembers nothing of his experience. Either he is being untruthful, or his memory of the event truly is closed to him. Most unlike Martin the Warrior, to go to all the trouble of contacting a living Redwaller, and leave behind nothing of any use to us. Perhaps we are looking at what happened the wrong way."

"Oh?" A chill ran down Mattimeo's spine. "What do you mean?"

"Do you ... have you gotten the feeling at all lately, Matti, that maybe Martin has tried to speak to you, but could not? I have. But it is almost as if there is some force here at Redwall, keeping him away. A barrier he cannot penetrate."

"By fur, you're not suggesting ... "

"Urthblood," Matthias nodded. "I see you have felt something like this yourself. That badger has a very strong power of prophecy about him. It could be that it is enough to keep the spirit of Martin at bay."

"Do you really think he is that powerful, Father?"

"I suspect so. But here is a better question: is Urthblood even aware of this? And if so, does he hold Martin away from us by design?"

"Why don't we go ask him?"

"What, and accuse him of playing shadow games in the spirit world? You are the only beast I would share this with, Matti; I doubt even Tess would understand. But it might account for young Martin's violent reaction, or why he cannot remember anything."

"If that's true, then Urthblood must leave Redwall at once!"

"Oh? Our suspicions are half-guesses at best. If we confront him openly with such accusations and he denies them, how would we prove our case? We would not be able to accuse him a second time, if the first comes to nothing - we'd look like fools, and nobeast would take us seriously."

"So, what are we to do?"

Matthias turned away from the tapestry. "I believe we were on our way out to meet some of Urthblood's vermin. Let us do so, and see what happens from there. It may be that we have alarmed ourselves for nothing, and no harm will come from this situation."

"I hope so, Father." Mattimeo gave one final glance at the changeless woven visage of Martin the Warrior, then followed Matthias out of Great Hall.

00000000000

Martin felt better as the afternoon wore on, although he could still recall nothing of the vision everybeast supposed he'd experienced. When he got up to go out onto the walltop to see Urthblood's army for himself, Sister May closed up the Infirmary and accompanied the young mouse. Tending to Martin all day, she'd not wanted to leave him alone, as curious as she was about this strange force which had come to Redwall. Now, she and her patient would go together to take their turn amongst the onlookers up on the battlements.

Several of the Abbeydwellers they passed on their way outside gave them peculiar glances, having heard of Martin's so-called trance. He ignored them, just as he ignored all the similar gazes that greeted him atop the stairs of the still-crowded ramparts. Finding a spot for himself to the far eastern end of the southern walltop where he could be relatively alone, Martin leaned on the battlement stone and looked out over the mass of armed creatures milling about and relaxing in the meadow below. Sister May took a spot alongside him, standing on her pawtips to see out over the wall more easily.

"You don't have to stay with me," Martin said to her.

"I'd rather I did." Neither mouse looked at the other as they spoke, so intent were they on the sight spread out below them. "You're still a little weak. If you go into another swoon, I'd like to be here to see it for myself, and minister to you right away." Sister May patted her ever-present satchel of bandages and herbal remedies. "It is my job, after all."

"Yes, I suppose it is." The two of them stood silently for awhile, taking in the breadth and scope and immensity of Urthblood's soldiery in the slanted rays of the late afternoon brightness.

At length Sister May said, "Oh, I see your father and grandfather out there ... looks like Sam and Cheek are with them, getting the grand tour from Urthblood. Not easy to spot them, amidst all those vermin and northland beasts. I hope it's safe for them down there. They'd certainly be outnumbered if trouble breaks out."

"I doubt there's any danger of that," said Martin.

"Why do you say that?"

"Because Urthblood is trying to win us over. Any vermin soldier of his who causes trouble for him here at Redwall will be a deadbeast, and I'm sure they all know it."

"You think he'd slay some of his troops, to keep the rest in line?"

"Don't you?"

Sister May pondered this. "Yes, I do believe that beast would."

"He's a warlike creature, and to us - "

"Hey, toadie! Ribbit, ribbit!"

Martin and Sister May turned to see Droge the hedgehog and Cuffy the dormouse had crept up behind them, and now stood giggling at their latest insult toward the Abbey's least popular mouse.

"Droge, you little scamp," Sister May scolded, "you should know better than to make fun of your elders!"

"Who, him?" The hedgehog child pointed at Martin. "He's not my elder ... that's just Martin the Toad!"

"Croak!" agreed Cuffy the dormouse.

Martin heaved a deep sigh and turned his gaze back out toward Urthblood's army. Such derision was nothing new to him.

Auma came bustling along the walltop walkway toward them, herding a few of the other children before her. Since Machus had spent the whole of the afternoon outside with the troops and Auma didn't have to worry about following the fox around the Abbey, she'd returned to her role of matriarch for the moment ... which meant that she was once again an open target for the more wild youngsters' mischief.

"Hello, Sister May," Auma puffed, drawing up and seizing Droge by his spiny shoulder; if anybeast could handle a rowdy hedgehog, it was a full-grown badger. "Is this impudent little spikeball troubling you?"

"Not me," the healer said. "Just Martin."

"Oh. That's okay, then. Come along, you little troublemakers ... down

off the wall, before you bother somebeast important."

"Aw, Mama Auma," Droge protested as she dragged him and Cuffy toward the stairs, "just a little longer! We wanna watch th' army!"

"You weren't any of you supposed to be up here in the first place," Auma said sternly. "These ramparts are no place for little ones with an army outside our walls."

"But it's a friendly army," Cuffy said.

"That remains to be seen. Now, you young scamps have a whole Abbey to play around in. Go frolic in the orchard, or down by the pond. It's nearly suppertime, anyway, so you shouldn't have too much trouble finding something to fill the time 'tween now and then."

There were more scattered protestations as Auma led her flock of youngbeasts along the walltop, away from the two mice. As their voices diminished with distance, Sister May turned to Martin. "Doesn't that ever bother you?"

Martin shrugged. "It used to. Now, I think I'd almost miss it. But I don't imagine there's much chance that everybeast around here will start treating me with respect."

"Well, you reap what you sow, you know."

"Hmm ... maybe you should have been a poet, Sister May."

Momentarily put off by Martin's lazily sarcastic rebuke, Sister May let her gaze go out over the sea of fighting creatures, taking them in until she was once more overwhelmed by their numbers.

"Martin?"

"Yes?"

"Are you getting any ... well, feelings ... about any of this?"

"You mean, has my presumed vision of this morning given me some special insight into Urthblood and his motives? Or allowed me to sense what may happen?" The young mouse shook his head. "Perhaps I really ought to feel some sort of dread or doom when I look out at all those armed vermin, but I don't. I feel ... nothing at all, honestly. Not in my heart, or in my bones, or what have you. But in my head, I simply know what I've known all along: that Urthblood has no place at Redwall, and his army doesn't, either."

"Yes, I agree with you. Except for me, it is a feeling in my bones, or somewhere I can't put my paw upon. Felt it the first night Lord Urthblood stayed with us, and it's never left me. I just hope that badger doesn't mean us any harm, and leaves Redwall soon."

"He doesn't have to intend harm to cause it," Martin said. "That's the worst of it. That beast is going to do what he will, and if our ways get trampled in the process, too bad for us."

Abbess Tess, walking the ramparts herself to take in Urthblood's army and get some feel for how it was affecting the Abbey residents, strolled over to them. "Hello, Sister May. I take it Martin is feeling better?"

"You know how young beasts are, Mother Abbess. Can't keep them bedded down when they feel like a walk. Martin seemed recovered from whatever strickened him this morning, so I thought it would be all right for us to come up here for a peek at our visitors. Goodness knows, everybeast else seems to have done so."

"It's actually thinned out quite a bit," Tess informed them. "You should have seen it earlier. Hardly any room to walk up here. You two certainly wouldn't have been able to get a nice quiet spot to yourselves back then."

"Glad I waited, then," Martin muttered.

Tess furrowed her brow at her son's antisocial attitude. "Well, at least a lot of the brothers and sisters have gotten back to their chores. The routine work of this Abbey should help keep everybeast occupied, and prevent them from worrying overmuch about something that might not need worrying about at all."

"I hope you're right," Sister May said. "The first look at that horde is enough to send a chill up any goodbeast's spine."

"Yes, but after you've watched them for awhile, you'll see that they do appear orderly and well-behaved. And there are a lot of woodlanders down there, too, who wouldn't be marching with vermin if they didn't get along all right. If they can do it, we should be able to as well."

"I suppose." Sister May didn't sound too convinced.

The Abbess leaned over the wall stone. "Matti and Matthias are supposed to be down there somewhere ... "

"Over there with all the northerner mice," Sister May pointed. "Sam is still with them, although Cheek just wandered off toward Urthblood's otters. Our two Warriors are spending a lot of time out there."

"Look at all the creatures there are to meet," Tess said, wondering if she should let Sister May in on the scheme of infiltrating Urthblood's woodland fighters. She decided not to; for now, it was probably best for as few of the Abbey leaders to know of this strategy as possible. "Once we've gotten to know some of them personally, we'll have a better idea what to make of all of this."

"Well, I'll let our braver beasts take charge there. Is it true, Tess, that there was a fox down in Cavern Hole for lunch?"

The Abbess nodded. "He's a high-ranking captain, so Lord Urthblood felt we should meet him. He behaved himself well, although it was revealed that he has some evil deeds in his past. Still, he seemed polite enough, and caused no trouble."

Sister May nodded uncertainly. "Yes, I suppose the hospitality of Redwall must be open to them, until they prove they're unworthy of it. I'll treat anybeast among them who falls ill or suffers injury ... but I must tell you honestly, I'll have very mixed feelings about taking rats or foxes into my beds. I hope it doesn't come to that."

"It shouldn't. Lord Urthblood has told us he plans to move on to Salamandastron before very long. This army's stay at Redwall should be a brief one." Tess moved around to place a loving paw on her son's shoulder. "I'm very happy you're feeling better, Martin. Just let us know - "

"I don't remember anything about the vision," Martin cut her off.

Tess smiled a mother's tolerant smile. "I was going to say, just let us know if there's anything anybeast can get for you. We want to keep you strong and healthy."

If Martin felt any chagrin, he didn't show it.

00000000000

"Pardon me, Abbess," Abellon said, "but I just heard it mentioned that you and Mattimeo have a son. I would have thought he would be seated here with us." The northlands mouse glanced over toward the table of youngsters presided over by Auma. "Or is he still a child?"

"No, he's an adult, just about," Mattimeo answered. "He was to receive the sword of Martin from me this season to become Redwall's new champion, but he declined. The ways of the Warrior are not for him, I'm afraid."

"Oh." Abellon seemed uncertain what to say to that. "Well, I would still like to meet him. Any son of two such fine mice as yourselves, not to mention the grandson of the Warrior who defeated Cluny, is a beast I'd be honored to shake paws with. Is he at one of the other tables?"

"Ur, no," Mattimeo said awkwardly, "he's, uh ... "

"Young Martin was not feeling well earlier," Urthblood broke in. "He had something of a fainting spell. I trust, Abbess, that he is up in his room or the Infirmary, recovering?"

"Yes," Tess said quickly. "Sister May has been looking after him all afternoon. He still wasn't up to joining us for dinner."

"His name is Martin?" Abellon asked. "That clinches it. Warrior or no, I must meet this namesake of our northlands hero."

"Perhaps tomorrow, if he is feeling better," said Mattimeo, although in truth he knew his son would have no desire whatsoever to meet with the warrior mouse from the north. "We'll see ... "

Down the table several places, Cheek leaned over to Winifred and chortled sarcastically, "If that mouse knew our little Martin the Toad, he jolly well wouldn't be in such a bally hurry to meet him!"

"That's true 'nuff," Waronker agreed from Winnie's other side. "One taste o' that temperamental li'l sod, an' Cap'n Abellon'll think much less o' us 'n' our Abbey. Think it'd be a good idea if'n Martin didn't show 'is whiskers while these good north'ners was about."

"I'm sure Tess and Mattimeo would agree with you, Warny," Winifred said. "But it's a problem that'll probably take care of itself. You'll notice Martin has been making himself scarce since long before that episode this morning down in Cavern Hole. He's never been friendly around any strangers, and this lot should keep him up in his room until they leave. We don't have to worry about any of Urthblood's captains being insulted by a beast who isn't there, now, do we?"

Cheek hoisted his mug. "A toast, then, to the invisible mouse! Hip hip hooray!"

Abellon glanced down the otters' way. "What's that all about?"

Tess and Mattimeo forced smiles, which came out more as grimaces - they knew all too well what Cheek was most likely going on about. "Oh, nothing, nothing ... he's just had too much to drink ... " Mattimeo stammered.

Abellon looked quizically down at his cup. "But, all we've had tonight has been fruit juice."

00000000000

At midmorning, Sister May was still in the kitchens, helping Friar Hugh and his staff clean up from the oversized breakfast.

The Friar let out a groan of frustration. "Halfway toward lunch, and I'm still dealing with the aftermath of breakfast! I haven't even given a thought to what I'll be serving for the noontide meal. I hope the Abbess doesn't want us to feed that horde again - otherwise, lunch won't be ready 'til sundown!"

"Oh, stop fretting, Hugh. If Tess wanted you to provide lunch for that army, she'd have let you know by now." Sister May stooped to store away a stack of freshly-washed pans in their proper cupboard. When she arose, she found the space before her filled by a figure who hadn't been there a moment before.

"Oh, Martin!" she said with a start. "You do seem to pop up out of nowhere, sometimes."

"Since I never got into the habit of wearing those cloppy sandals, I can creep around with the best of mice ... even you, Sister May."

Friar Hugh gave the Warrior's son a surly once-over. "Take what you came for, Martin, then begone! We're behind schedule today, and I can't have any useless bodies in the way down here."

"And good morning to you too, Friar," Martin said sardonically, and moved past the thin mouse cook to the larders.

"Here, let me help you." Sister May joined Martin at his side, lending the young mouse a paw in his scavenging. It only took a few moments for the two of them to fill a small basket with enough food and drink to last Martin for a couple of days.

"We don't see you at all these days," Sister May said as she escorted Martin out into Cavern Hole. "Our guests must think you're a figment of our imaginations. Have you met any of Urthblood's captains yet?"

"No, and I don't care to. I'll be quite content to keep to my room until they all leave Redwall."

Sister May smirked. "Well, that's rather predictable. Seriously, some of them are quite decent, for northlanders. Their mouse captain in particular seems to have caught everybeast's fancy around here. And that squirrel Lady has Sam spinning around his own tail."

"Good for them. You can have their company all to yourselves. I'm happy enough without it."

"'Happy' isn't exactly the first word that springs to mind when I think of you." Sister May turned more somber. "You know, your father and grandfather are outside right now, with all those fighting beasts. Your mother's rather concerned about them. We all are, truth to tell."

"Yes, I know. She came up to my room a short time ago. I told her not to worry. Dad probably relished the chance to be out among so many warriors ... just his speed."

"If we could only be sure that they're all friendly. So many vermin ... you can never tell with them. Foxes, either." She looked at Martin. "Are you going up to the wall to keep a watch, in case anything happens?"

"There are other Redwallers better qualified than I to handle any sort of emergency. I'll leave the watching in their capable paws."

"You don't care in the least that your father and grandfather might be in jeopardy, do you?"

Martin paused at the bottom of the seven wide steps that led up into Great Hall. "I feel there is danger here ... but not the kind you're thinking of. Matthias and my father will be safe ... today."

Sister May gazed intently at Martin. "Have you ... remembered any more about your vision?" she asked in a hushed voice.

"Nothing at all," Martin replied in his normal tone, shattering the mystical spell of the moment. "Just a feeling I have. See you later, Sister May. And thanks for your help in the kitchen. I'll be up in my room for the next day or two. Hopefully that army will be gone by then ... but I tend to doubt it."

00000000000

A single lamp was lit up in Martin's room.

The last gray vestiges of twilight were fading from the western sky as night reclaimed the heavens. The Warrior's son sat upon his bed, an old journal from the archives propped up on his knees. The lantern burning on the side table cast its light over his shoulder onto the pages. He lay in an island of yellow glow, the rest of his quarters shrouded in deepening shadows.

The knock on the door made Martin look up. "Yes?" he called out rather curtly, not necessarily inviting his visitor to come inside.

The door opened anyway, and Mattimeo stepped across the threshold. He regarded his son for a moment, then said, "Hello, Martin."

"I could tell it was you by your knock. You've got a heavy Warrior's paw."

"Better to be heard too well than not at all." Mattimeo came over to the bedside, glancing at the open book balanced in Martin's lap. "One of the histories, I see. Since when has that been one of your limited interests?"

"Since I've been a virtual prisoner in my room," Martin grimaced, "unable to venture beyond my door without risk of blundering into some northlands ruffian or other."

"You might stand to learn a thing or two from those 'ruffians,' if you'd give them a chance. Seriously, they're starting to think of you as 'the Invisible Mouse.'"

"Ha ha."

Mattimeo glanced around the room. "Well, if you're feeling like a captive here, why don't you make one of your Mossflower excursions? Or did your last experience out in the storm sour you to your little sojourns?"

"Not the storm," said Martin. "It's all those soldiers. In case you haven't noticed, we haven't been feeding most of them, and they've been foraging Mossflower for their meals."

"So?"

"So, do you know how much foraging it must take to satisfy an army of that size? The woods around Redwall are probably teeming with them every day, and farther into the forest than I would care to hike. I'm better off here, thank you very much."

Mattimeo thought about his son's comment. He and the other Abbey leaders hadn't really discussed the effect Urthblood's army must be having on the nearby reaches of Mossflower. They'd all been so dazzled by the battle drills just outside their walls, they hadn't really noticed whether any foraging parties had been coming and going through Mossflower. But now, come to think of it, Sam had reported seeing a few of the northerners deep inside the woodlands, when the Forest Patrol had been out with Lady Mina. Matti hadn't given it much thought at the time, but now Martin's words made him consider the report in a new light. How much of Mossflower's plenty was disappearing into the provision sacks of Urthblood's soldiers? And what effect was their presence having upon all the woodland creatures who dwelt in the forest around Redwall?

Not that it would matter much after another few days ... provided Urthblood was being truthful about moving his army on to Salamandastron soon.

"Um, Martin?"

"Something you want to say, Father?"

"About what happened to you down in Cavern Hole the other day ... I was just wondering ... "

Martin shook his head and closed his eyes. "No, I still don't remember anything definite about that. From what everybeast tells me, I must have made quite a spectacle out of myself. So much for the low profile I was trying to keep around Urthblood. Then again, he's the one who invited me down to your wonderful council ... "

Mattimeo sharpened at that. "Yes, why was that? Did he give you any explanation on why he wanted you there?"

Martin shrugged. "He just seemed to think I ought to be there. Maybe he knew I'd put on a good show for him. 'Martin the Court Jester' ... add that to my list of names."

"Seems to me that's just what he wouldn't want," said Mattimeo. "We were all a little unsure about Urthblood to begin with, and he knew he'd be telling us that he had vermin and foxes in his army. The last thing he'd want would be to top off that unsettling revelation with your disturbing reaction to touching his sword."

Martin smirked. "Maybe his great prophetic vision let him down for once."

"Yes," Mattimeo murmured, "yes, maybe it did. In which case, we might not be able to put much stock in any of what he's told us about his prophecies, even if he believes them himself. Martin, are you absolutely sure you don't remember anything of your vision? Anything at all?"

"No," Martin insisted. "Nothing from the vision, if that's what it was."

"But ... you do feel something about this situation, don't you?"

"Only that Urthblood doesn't belong at Redwall, which I've been saying long before my little fainting spell. The feeling's grown stronger since then, I must admit, but it's still just a feeling, or more like a certainty. There's nothing prophetic about it. Not like an image I've glimpsed in a dream, or anything like that."

Mattimeo stroked his whiskers thoughtfully as he looked at his son. "We've decided to allow Urthblood's troops inside Redwall. Not just his captains, but all of them."

Martin didn't show any surprise at this announcement. "Isn't that going to make things a bit crowded around here?"

"They won't all come in at once. We'll do it in shifts. And it will only be during part of the day. They'll still sleep and keep camp outside the wall. And we are going to disarm any who do come into Redwall. They're not going to have the total run of our Abbey. But ... well, we just wish we could be certain we've made the right decision. That's why I came to you. You say you don't remember anything of your vision, but you do have feelings about all of this. What do your feelings say now, Martin? Are we doing the right thing?"

The younger mouse gazed down at the open pages. "There is danger here, Father," he answered at last. "But it's not the kind of danger you fear. If Urthblood's troops harm anybeast inside Redwall, I think it will only be by accident ... and woe to that soldier who makes us regret our hospitality. Urthblood would probably slay it instantly. That badger has too much to lose if he lets Redwall out of his grasp now. He wants us as allies, and he wants our trust, given freely in the Redwall way."

"I would have no problem giving Lord Urthblood my trust if he's worthy of it," said Mattimeo. "And if he's not, I can only assume he will prove himself false by his words and deeds, given time."

"Ah, but how much time?" Martin asked knowingly. "He's dwelt among us now for quite a few days, and you're still not sure of him. What if days turn into seasons, and your questions about him remain unanswered?"

"Well, he certainly won't be at Redwall for seasons. So I'm still not sure I understand the danger you're speaking of."

Martin sighed. "I know I've had my differences with just about every creature living at Redwall, and I've never really found true happiness here. But that doesn't mean I don't care about what Redwall stands for. On the contrary, this Abbey's history of peace is one thing I do cherish. It's the ways of war that rub me the wrong way. Urthblood's ways."

Martin looked Mattimeo in the eyes. "Perhaps I've been a little unfair, all those times I accused you of being a warmonger. I know you're proud of your standing and heritage as a Warrior, but next to Urthblood, you and Matthias look as peaceful as a pair of sleepy old dormice. It's one thing to be proud of your skills and what you've fought for. But war is the central core of Urthblood's existence. There's something almost ... soulless about him. And that's the danger, Father. That he'll try to seduce Redwall over to his way of thinking. It's not simple violence against us today, or tomorrow, that we must worry about. It's our very heart and soul and way of life that is threatened."

It was obvious that Mattimeo thought his son was overreacting. "Nonsense, Martin. If that's how you feel, you can put your mind at ease. Urthblood is a Badger Lord, and their ways have always been very different from ours. But even if he shows himself a friend of Redwall in the days to come, his path must lie along another road than ours. This Abbey has stood for a hundred generations, and every Abbot and Abbess, from Germaine to your own mother, has steered Redwall on a steady course, never letting the creatures who dwell here forget what we stand for. That shall never change. For every season of war and turmoil that has shadowed our fair home, Redwall has enjoyed many seasons of peace and prosperity. Our history has been a calm one overall, and it is because we have never abandoned or strayed from our guiding principles, set down when the very foundations of Redwall were put down. My father and I may be Warriors, but it is only so that we can defend the Redwall way. And that way will never be compromised by the goodbeasts who live here ... not even though a figure as strong as Urthblood might seek to sway us. If that truly is his aim, he is bound to be disappointed."

"I wish I could share your confidence," sighed Martin. "The truth is, it's already begun."

"What do you mean?"

"Urthblood has already won over many goodbeasts in the north. How many of them once shared your reservations about him? More than one, I'd guess, and now they're fanatically loyal to him and his cause. Tomorrow, you're going to start letting all of those troops into Redwall, but not because of Urthblood. It's his otters and mice and moles and hedgehogs who've made you trust them so far. If there's no problem with the arrangement tomorrow, what will come next? Letting them all into Redwall at once, instead of in shifts? And after that, perhaps you'll let them wear their weapons inside the Abbey, and then have free run of the premises ... and all the while, you'll be forging greater friendships with the goodbeasts in that army, and might actually come to think of those foxes and vermin as decent creatures and comrades in arms. And then the day will come when Urthblood will seek to enlist our help in some campaign of his or another, under the guise of fighting for the good of all the lands. Will you tell him no? Will you say to all your new northland friends that Urthblood's cause is not just, even though they are sworn to it? Will you even be able to recognize for yourselves that you are being used? Or will all the capable fighting beasts of Redwall, on that day, fall into step alongside Urthblood's other troops, becoming his unquestioning servants themselves?"

Martin paused. "This is what I see, Father. Urthblood is trying to swallow Redwall whole. And because he's not relying on arms or force to do the job, he stands a much better chance at succeeding than Cluny or Ironbeak ever did."

Mattimeo rested a fatherly paw on Martin's shoulder. "I'm glad we had this talk. I can't say that I see the danger as dire as you describe it, because I have faith in the goodbeasts of the Abbey to do what is right to preserve the best spirit of Redwall. But you have reminded me that that spirit might be threatened in ways that are not always obvious, and we must always be vigilant never to forget what we stand for. Whatever our future relations with Urthblood may turn out to be, we will enter that relationship with eyes open."

"That's good," said Martin, "but it may not be enough. Not if there's more going on than meets the eye."


	5. Chapter 5

_Here's the final block of Martin scenes that never made the revised version of_ The Crimson Badger. _You'll notice that Martin's role in the tale becomes greatly diminished after Urthblood leaves Redwall; that's because it was at this point in the drafting of my novel that Brian Jacques published_ Pearls of Lutra, _and I realized that my effort would no longer agree with the official books. I forced myself to complete_ TCB _using Brian's characters, even though I knew I'd eventually have to change that aspect of the tale, but since Martin no longer fit my shifting conception of the plot, I let him languish, his part reduced to just a few token appearances._

_Hope you all enjoyed these!_

0000000

When Cyril awoke, the white light of the near-full moon was shining in his eyes through the Infirmary window. He sat up with a start, realizing he'd fallen asleep on the bed next to Jans and Broggen. Cyril flung aside the blanket that somebeast, probably Jans, had used to cover him. The young mouse stood and smoothed out his rumpled habit, his face flushed with embarrassment. He'd nodded off and had to be tucked in like an infant dormouse, and by the very warrior he'd wanted most to impress! Jans and Broggen had been the only creatures who'd taken seriously his desire to be a warrior, and now he'd gone and made a silly fool of himself in front of them. Falling asleep on Jans, right in the middle of the older mouse's war stories! Now they'd just laugh at him like all the others.

Cyril slipped off his sandals. Holding them in one paw, he tiptoed across the floor and out of the Infirmary. The chained companions both appeared to be in a deep slumber, and Cyril wanted to leave without disturbing them. He'd be mortified to have to face them now, after what had happened.

He made his way through the darkened Abbey toward the room he shared with Cyrus, but when he reached it he kept going, down the stairs to Great Hall. He didn't want to climb into the bed he'd slept in since coming to Redwall as a small mousechild, not tonight. The same restlessness that had made him seek out Jans and Broggen in the Infirmary was still upon him. Yesterday he'd wielded the sword of a warrior, and been complimented by other warriors! Even if it was only play fighting, he'd tasted a life that had never been open to him before. The bed of a bellringer child no longer held much attraction for him.

The moonlight was brighter in Great Hall, streaming through the stained glass windows that turned the pale shafts all colors against the sandstone floor. The image of Martin the Warrior stood out clearly, even in the wan illumination. Nobeast was about; all of Urthblood's troops must have been asleep or standing watch out in the Abbey grounds.

It was then that Cyril did something he'd never done before: he spoke to the woven image of Redwall's founding warrior.

"What should I do, Martin? I can't help the feelings inside me ... I don't want to be just a bellringer anymore. I can't be. Somebeast will have to take your sword from Mattimeo and become the next champion of Redwall, and that other Martin sure isn't the one for the job! I know I could do it, but no one here will take me seriously! How can I prove myself to them? What would you have done in my place?"

The mouse in the tapestry made no reply.

Cyril shrugged and turned away. He didn't feel the least bit sleepy, so he walked toward the door that led out from Great Hall to the Abbey grounds and the warm summer night, his sandals still dangling from one paw.

A creature was standing just outside the door, gazing up at the western ramparts. Cyril stopped short, almost running into the beast.

Young Martin looked at the mouse who'd intruded upon his solitary vigil. "Hello, Cyril. Brought me some sandals? Sorry, I don't wear them."

Cyril was surprised to encounter Martin in such an odd place at this late hour. The son of Redwall's warrior had been keeping to his room since the strange incident with Urthblood's sword, and few had seen him.

"Uh, no, these are mine," Cyril said, clumsily slipping his sandals back onto his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. But I won't." Martin returned his gaze to the walltop. "Urthblood is talking to his birds again."

Cyril followed Martin's gaze. Sure enough, the badger warrior stood high upon the western ramparts, his huge bulk and crimson armor distinct in the moonlight. A feathered giant sat alongside him, and the two creatures seemed to be conferring. "Is that an owl?" Cyril asked.

"It looks like it. Urthblood's been standing up there all night, waiting for it, apparently. It just flew down a minute ago."

"Oh." Cyril didn't know what else to say. "Uh, what time is it?"

"I'm not sure. Well past midnight and halfway to dawn, I should imagine."

"Did Lord Urthblood ever get around to questioning that hare? He seemed so determined that it be done right away, but then he suddenly got busy with other things." It occurred to Cyril then that the other mouse might not have the slightest idea what he was talking about. If Martin had been in his room until a short time ago, he might not know anything about the hare who'd arrived at Redwall the previous afternoon.

But Martin simply said, rather cryptically, "I would say he's had a change of priorities. Something's happening, something big. Events are going to be moving rapidly from now on."

"But ... if the hare isn't really from Salamandastron ... "

"I don't think that matters to Urthblood. Not anymore. Things have moved beyond that."

"I don't understand."

"You're not alone. But ... " Martin let his voice trail off, and a dreamy look came to his eye. "When I touched Urthblood's sword, I think I saw into his soul. Even though I can't remember any details of the vision I seem to have had, I believe I may have gained some insight into whatever it is that drives him. And I can only say that the experience has left me unsettled and full of foreboding. Perhaps ... perhaps somebeast will indeed have to take the sword from my father and become the next champion of Redwall. But it won't be me."

"You were listening to me in Great Hall!"

Martin blinked hard, as if emerging from a trance. "Huh? What are you

talking about?"

"You mean you weren't listening to me just now, before I came out here?"

Martin shook his head. "I've been standing here most of the night, watching Urthblood."

"Oh." Cyril was struck with wonder. Martin had used almost the exact words that Cyril had uttered in front of the tapestry. If Martin wasn't lying about overhearing ...

Cyril studied Martin, absorbed in his surveillance of Lord Urthblood. Martin was about two seasons older than Cyril, and the two had only known each other slightly from a few classes they'd had together. Cyril didn't particularly care for the older mouse, put off by his aloofness as most Redwallers were, and he'd never thought of Martin as a friend, despite their closeness of age. He would scarcely have imagined them having such a conversation as this.

The owl spread its wings and launched itself from the wall, beating its way north in the night sky. Urthblood descended the wall stairs and roused one of his rat captains who was sleeping near Matthias's cottage. The rat went to others, and soon the cloisters were coming awake with stirring fighters.

"And now it starts," Martin murmured.

"What starts?" Cyril asked.

"What indeed. We'll find out tomorrow, I suppose." Martin turned to enter the Abbey. "Im going to get some sleep. Good night, Cyril."

00000000000

Auma was puffing mildly by the time she gained the belfrey of the tall bell tower. Otherwise, she might have noticed the slight rustle of movement from above her. As it was, she spat into her palms, rubbed them together, and clasped one bell rope with each paw. Just as she was about to put her weight into pulling on the ropes, to toll out the traditional breakfast knell over Redwall, a voice called out from overhead.

"Please hold up on that a moment. I don't want to go deaf."

Auma was so surprised that she nearly tumbled down the shaft of the bell tower. Only her grip on the thick ropes allowed her to regain her balance. Looking up, she saw a face peering down at her from the highest window ledge, up by the axle frames. It was Martin.

"What are you doing up there?" she demanded rather crossly, as one who is startled often will. "You nearly made me fall from the belfrey deck."

"You shouldn't be so skittish, Auma. Hardly appropriate for a badger." Martin jumped nimbly down from the window space, landing softly upon the deck boards on his shoeless feet. "As for what I was doing here, I was watching Urthblood's army go."

"From here? You can hardly see over the wall to the road from those windows. The view from the battlements would have been much better."

"I could see all I wanted to from here. Besides, the ramparts were pretty packed, and I hate crowds."

"The feeling is mutual, I'm sure." Auma glared impatiently at her least favorite Redwall mouse. "Well? Can I get to ringing these bells now, or do you want me to wait so you can contemplate your navel awhile?"

"No, I'm finished with that." Martin looked at Auma in an uncharacteristically friendly manner. "I've heard rumors that you really wanted to go with Lord Urthblood. Are you sorry that you didn't?"

"Since when have you cared about such things? Although maybe you'd like to be rid of me for awhile. I'm sure you're overjoyed that Lord Urthblood is finally gone. You weren't able to mope around so openly with him here."

"It doesn't make me happy that any beasts might be getting ready for war. And that's what Urthblood is all about. I'm glad you didn't go with him. It could only have turned out bad."

"If you really feel that way, aren't you overlooking the fact that three of Redwall's otters have gone off with him? Or would you care if Cheek never comes back?"

"My chief tormentor? I have a feeling Cheek can take care of himself. I also have a feeling that Cheek, Winokur and Waronkur were not the only Redwallers who left with Urthblood just now."

The badger matriarch stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Just that a certain young mouse of ours has grown restless of late, to the point that these walls may no longer be enough to contain him. He's certainly made his newfound warrior's yearnings plain enough, but nobeast here has paid any attention ... except for Urthblood and some of his soldiers."

"Cyril? Cyril has gone off with Lord Urthblood?" Auma grabbed Martin roughly by the shoulders. "When did you find out about this? And why didn't you tell us?"

"Oh, I don't know it for a certainty. But I have a strong suspicion that our elder bellringer will turn up missing if we were to look for him now." Martin's eyes went to the powerful paws that gripped him. "Uh, would you mind letting go? Sometimes I think you don't know your own strength."

Auma complied. "What would possess him to do such a thing?"

"Well, everybeast here always assumed I'd be a warrior, and was disappointed when things turned out otherwise. The spirit of Martin never spoke through me. Maybe it has chosen to speak through Cyril instead."

Auma stood thinking for a moment, then turned toward the tower stairs. "I must tell the Abbess about this."

"Maybe this was meant to be, Auma. Cyril may seem an unlikely candidate for our next Abbey champion - but so did my grandfather before Cluny came to Redwall. You and Mother should keep that in mind before you go rushing off after him."

But Auma was already on her way down the steps, the tolling of the bells forgotten, and she said nothing in answer to young Martin's parting advice.

00000000000

"So, are we under siege or not?"

Elmtail the squirrel turned around at the sound of the voice from behind. He was mildly surprised to see young Martin stepping off the top of the west wall stairs to join him on the ramparts. "I thought you always stayed to your room whenever we had visitors at Redwall," he said to the young mouse rather snidely.

Typically, Martin ignored the other's manner. "All of Urthfist's soldiers seem well enough occupied just at the moment, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to see what rude badger has come to Redwall now."

"Well, that rude badger's why I'm up here now, because he's threatening to be more than just rude. So look all you want, but just don't get in our way," Elmtail waved a paw to indicate the other squirrels of the Mossflower Patrol who were spaced around the walltop, quivers full and bows at the ready. "We gotta stay sharp, in case these jokers try anything funny."

Martin went to the battlement wall and raised himself on his tippaws to see down into the road.

"And I wouldn't stick my head too far up," Elmtail added. "Some of those hares have longbows of their own. Given the reputation of the Long Patrols, I'd reckon they don't often miss what they shoot at."

"I'll flatten my ears," Martin said sarcastically, "so I won't make as big a target."

Elmtail glowered and returned his attention to his sentry duties.

All that afternoon, since the Abbess's meeting with Urthfist, the Badger Lord's hares had taken up positions all around the outside of Redwall. There was nothing overtly threatening to their demeanor - indeed, many seemed to be actually lounging comfortably, almost lazily, in their chosen spots - but no group was smaller than three or four hares, and some had nearly a dozen. For the most part they were close enough to keep a good watch on the Abbey, but far enough away to be beyond easy shooting range. Obviously, they were not leaving their safety to chance, guarding against any surprise attack from within Redwall, as well as any assault from other forces of Urthblood's that they worried might be abroad in this neck of Mossflower. Reassuringly, their deployment did seem designed more for their own defense than for any coordinated offensive against Redwall.

"I don't see Urthfist anywhere," Martin observed, scanning the hares who were stationed in the road below.

"He's around on the north side, where he met with your parents this noontide," Elmtail said. "Seems to've set up his headquarters under the trees beyond the north wall gate. You'll have to go there if you want to catch a glimpse of that badger. Not that you'll have much luck there either. The treetops block the view of his camp from the walltop."

Martin dropped back onto the flats of his footpaws. "Oh. Well, then I may as well stay here with you. Nice view of the sunset."

Elmtail wordlessly gnashed his teeth. Clearly, he wished Martin would go bother somebeast else.

"Say, where's that fetching squirrel lady of Urthblood's that you're all falling over yourselves for?" Martin asked idly, staring past the hares to the Western Plains, bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon. "I'd have thought she'd be up here helping you keep watch."

"She and Machus are down discussing what to do about this situation. She's a noblebeast, a lady of royalty. You wouldn't expect to find her on routine sentry duty."

"Except when Sam's up here," Martin commented wryly. "Those two haven't been apart much in recent days, from what I hear."

Elmtail leaned farther out over the battlements, trying very hard to pretend Martin wasn't there.

"But, I suppose it's only natural," the mouse went on. "If a noble lady like that was going to single out any squirrel at Redwall for her affections, you'd expect it to be the leader of the Forest Patrol, I suppose."

"The lucky stiff," Elmtail muttered.

Martin glanced aside sharply at the squirrel. "Not jealous, are we?"

"No." Elmtail bristled, ruffling his fur as if shaking off a bad sensation. His bushy tail twitched and jerked, although he did not seem to be aware of it. "No ... I've got more important things on my mind just now. We all have."

"I'll say. My mother's locked away in her study, pondering what should be done. I went to visit her on my way out here, but Dad and Auma told me not to disturb her. And Uncle Tim's all upset by something Urthfist told us, about a tribe of shrews up in the northlands that Urthblood supposedly slaughtered. Said they were once friends of Martin the Warrior. Now who but an historian would know something like that? He's taking solace with Cyril and Cyrus in the Infirmary. That Cyrus seems just about recovered from his injury. He was just complaining to Sister May about not being allowed up here to see Lord Urthfist and his hares for himself."

"Sounds like you've been taking a regular tour of the Abbey," Elmtail observed. "Been bitten by the social bug all of a sudden?"

Now it was Martin's turn to bristle. "My mother and Sister May are about the only two creatures in Redwall who don't seem annoyed by my company," he said defensively. "I was merely visiting the two of them. Everybeast else I met coincidentally."

"If you socialized more, maybe more of us would welcome your company."

Martin gazed out over the wall. "On second thought, that lowering sun's in my eyes. You can have it to yourself." He turned and descended the wall steps once more.

Elmtail watched him go, then returned his gaze back to the road. "Hopeless," he murmured to himself, shaking his head.

00000000000

Young Martin sat upon his bed up in his third floor dormitory room, staring idly out his window at the blue summer sky. He'd been down to the kitchens before dawn to grab himself enough food to last him the day. Friar Hugh and his staff had been unusually busy at that early hour, and it was then that Martin had learned for the first time that his mother had ordered Urthblood's troops to leave the Abbey. Martin's initial gladness at this news was disspelled upon hearing that Lord Urthfist and his hares were to be invited into the Abbey. It would be no bargain, trading twoscore foxes, vermin and shrews for another Badger Lord and fourscore hares. The temperamental young mouse knew quite enough of jaunty harish mannerisms from all the ridicule he'd suffered from Cheek, and he was hardly thrilled that there would now be eighty of those creatures sharing his home for goodness knew how long.

His food supply successfully gathered, Martin had slunk back up to his room with twice the amount he'd intended to get. If there was to be an army of hares staying at Redwall, he would be content to keep to his quarters as much as he could. He had lots of sleeping and thinking he could catch up on, and there was always the nice view outside his window, high enough so that he could observe some of the comings and goings of the Abbey without being involved in them.

As he sat there, thinking idle summer thoughts of no great weight, he became aware of the sounds of activity from the corridor outside. He could hear rather gruff voices, and doors opening and closing. Martin's gaze went to his own closed door, although he certainly didn't expect anybeast to intrude upon his privacy. Every Redwaller knew to leave him alone, and there was no reason why any visitor would come up here to bother him.

The door opened partway, and a long-eared head poked itself into the room. Martin recognized Hanchett from the times he'd seen the hare during his captivity when he'd been free to roam the Abbey. The hare, however, did not recognize Martin, since the mouse had successfully avoided any face-to-face meetings.

"Oh, hullo! Got an occupied one here! Hope I didn't catch you doin' anything indecent. Jus' scopin' out fer vermin 'n' nastybeasts. Don't see any here," Hanchett ran his gaze around the chamber, "so I'll just be on my way, and let you get back t' yerself. Sorry for the bother!" The flop-eared face disappeared, and Martin's door clicked shut once more.

The mouse sat where he was for some moments, gritting his teeth as he listened to the racket of the scouting hares recede and fade away. Then he got up from his bed and crossed to the door. His was the only dorm room in the Abbey that had a lockbolt installed on the inside of the door. Martin slid it into place now, checked to make sure it was securely locked, then returned to his bed.

00000000000

Mattimeo smiled in the dark. "Just after you left to come up here, Urthfist complained to me that one of our doors was locked to his hares, and the room's occupant refused to open it for them. A certain dormitory on the third floor."

"Oh, dear. Is Martin causing problems again?"

"It's all right. I assured Urthfist it was just our temperamental son, who's as likely to bite his head off as any vermin. Hanchett had seen Martin in his room before Urthfist came into the Abbey, so he was able to vouch for the fact that a young mouse lives alone there. Once I explained to that badger that Martin has no great fondness for strangers and even less for the ways of warriors, Urthfist seemed content to let the matter rest."

"Well, that's good. We certainly don't need any more complications on top of what we already have."

Mattimeo chuckled softly to himself.

"What?" his wife prompted.

"I know I shouldn't, but I take some guilty pleasure that Martin was able to frustrate Urthfist just a little," Mattimeo admitted. "Goodness knows, he's caused all of us enough grief over the seasons. No reason Urthfist should be spared, if he's going to go sticking his muzzle into every corner of our home ... "

00000000000

Coming out of the Abbess's study, Clewiston found himself facing a young mouse out in the hall. The rodent wore a fine, blouse-like tunic, quite different from the habit robes usually associated with Redwall mice, and was nobeast the Colonel could place from his time spent at the Abbey so far. He seemed to be regarding Clewiston with a combination of impatience and distaste.

"Morning, chap," the hare nodded to the stranger. "Anything the matter?"

"I don't like hares," the mouse stated flatly without preamble. "I find them annoying and intrusive and altogether way too boisterous for their own good. And since it looks like there will be a lot of you living here from now on, I thought I'd better get this out of the way up front."

Then, saying no more, the mouse marched past him toward the stairs, leaving the Colonel staring after him, speechless.

Mattimeo poked his head out of the study. "Were you just talking to somebeast, Colonel?" Then, spying the retreating figure, he smiled wanly. "Ah. I see you've met our son Martin. Putting up with him is one more sacrifice you'll have to make to live here."

Clewiston indignantly straightened his jacket. "If y' don't mind me saying it, my good mouse, yer son could use some work on his bally manners."

"We've been working on him for seasons," the Warrior mouse said. "You're welcome to try your paw at him, Colonel. But I guess this makes it official now. Nobeast can be a true Redwaller these days until they've had at least one run-in with our temperamental Martin. Welcome to Redwall, Colonel!"

Clewiston's whiskers twitched in agitation as he continued to gaze in the direction Martin had gone. "Hope that youngster has bravery 'n' fightin' skills t' match his lack o' social graces."

"Sadly, no," Mattimeo lamented. "He was supposed to receive the sword of Martin from me this season, but he refused it. The ways of the warrior are not for him, I'm afraid. Actually, I think he's practicing to become a hermit, from the amount of time he spends alone up in his room or wandering the woods. The bright side to that is that you won't have to worry about running into him very much."

The hare cocked an ear in agreement. "Well, if that's th' beast you folk were countin' on t' become yer next Champion, I'd say we Long Patrols got here just in time, wot?"

00000000000

One beast who made a point of not circulating was young Martin, who took a seat next to Sister May and clung to it for the duration of the feast. At one point early in the festivities, the old healer mouse turned to him and said, "You seem to be enjoying yourself, Martin. At least you're behaving yourself this season."

Martin swallowed a mouthful of cheesebread. "This Nameday, nobeast is trying to force me to be somebeast I'm not. As long as I'm left to myself, that's reason enough for me to celebrate."

"Hmm. Well, your parents must be relieved. They were afraid you'd do something to offend our honored hares on their day. Given the way you feel about hares, we were wondering if you'd make an appearance at all. I'm glad you did. You should really enjoy yourself more."

"It seems to be expected of me," Martin said. "As for offending the hares, I got that right out of the way when they first arrived. I wouldn't try to spoil this day for them. If they want a day of their own, they can have it. Just so long as my parents never try to make me the center of a Nameday feast again."

From his other side, old Matthias leaned in and said, "I think they learned their lesson last Nameday, Martin. Once was enough for them!"

00000000000

... All is well with the other brothers and sisters of our beloved Abbey. Matthias only seems to be growing younger with the passing of the seasons; I saw him just yesterday, up on the walltop catching the early snowflakes on his outstretched tongue like a youngbeast, and I would swear he's more hale and hearty than he was this summer! Matthias the Miracle, some of us are starting to call him. Tess and Mattimeo provide the strong leadership Redwall needs in these uncertain times, and they are both greatly bouyed by the fact that our Long Patrol friends have settled in so well. My nephew Martin is - well, he's always going to be Martin, I'm afraid. True happiness continues to elude him, it would seem, although his behavior has improved somewhat as of late. He has become almost friendly with Sister May and, believe it or not, Auma too. He gave our poor badger mother so much grief when he was a youngster, but now he offers her genuine solace over the death of Machus. She has confided in me that she still misses that fox sometimes to the point of heartbreak, and she has taken to secretly seeking out young Martin at such times for comfort. It is not a role I would ever have envisioned for my insolent nephew, and I cannot imagine how it has come about. But I am glad. If he can ease the suffering of another, that is a powerful gift. Now if only he could find happiness for himself ...


End file.
